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HENRY  WADSWORTH   LONGFELLOW. 


STANDARD    LITERATURE   SERIES 

The  Courtship  of 
Miles  Standish 

AISTD  OTHEE  POEMS 


■4/ 

\  BY 

HENRY   WADSWORTH    LONGFELLOW 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES 

BY 

GEORGE  ARMSTRONG  WAUCHOPE,  M.A.,  Ph.D. 

ASSOCIATE   PROFESSOR   OF   ENGLISH   IN   SOUTH   CAROLINA  COLLEGE 


'» 


*         <>    e.    r     '-    >    J    » 


•>      ^    .     '    .» 


UNIVERSITY  PUBLISHING   COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  . : .  BOSTON  . : .  NEW  ORLEANS 


75-3/ 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
UNIVERSITY  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


#**  2550 


•       »  e       e         e     t 


NOTE   TO   TEACHERS. 

The  present  editor  of  "The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  " 
has  aimed  to  adapt  his  style  and  treatment  to  a  comparatively 
young  class  of  pupils.  Having  in  mind  especially  those  just 
below  the  high-school  grades,  he  has  made  his  suggestions  for 
study  as  simple  and  practical  as  is  consistent  with  thorough 
work.  To  this  end  he  invites  the  cooperation  of  the  teacher, 
for  the  best  resnlts  are  reached  when  instructor  and  editor 
understand  each  other's  aims.  Even  the  lightest  study  of  a 
piece  of  literature  calls  for  some  definite  plan  of  work  to  dif- 
ferentiate it  from  mere  casual  reading  for  amusement.  A 
class  even  in  literature  must  have  a  lesson  to  learn.  The  first 
reading  may  still  be  for  pleasure,  but  the  skilful  teacher  will 
use  this  as  a  basis  for  training  in  the  simpler  principles  of 
criticism,  for  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  and  culture,  and 
for  mental  discipline.  It  is  not  hard  to  interest  pupils  at  the 
story-loving  age  in  what  is  meant  by  a  plot,  how  it  is  put  to- 
gether, what  part  the  actors  play,  and  in  the  teachings  of  the 
book.  The  study  of  the  i:>oet"s  materials  will  open  up  natu- 
rally the  important  relation  of  history  to  literature,  of  facts 
to  art,  and  the  author's  method  of  work.  From  this  higher 
ground  the  advance  is  easy  and  gradual  to  the  mastery  of 
some  of  the  great  principles  of  poetic  art.  The  list  of  topics 
and  questions  in  the  introduction  will  indicate  the  editor's 
plan,  which  is  to  start  each  pupil  out,  note-book  in  hand,  to 
find  illustrations  of  points  already  made,  to  whet  his  powers 
of  observation,  to  draw  out  his  reasoning  faculties,  and  culti- 
vate a  taste  for  critical  research. 

A  number  of  the  favorite  shorter  poems  of  the  author  have 
been  included  in  this  volume,   to   meet  the   desire   of  many 

tea^^e^s.  (-|^  j^   Wauchope. 

South  Carolina  College. 

221868 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

NOTE  TO   TEACHERS v 

INTRODUCTION .  .      .  ix 

T.     Historical  Material ix 

§    1.     An  American  Poem ix 

S    2.     The  Pilgrims x 

§    3.     The  Characters xvi 

Priscilla  Mullens— John  Alclen — Miles  Standish. 

II.  Study  of  the  Poem xxi 

§  4.  Its  Form  and  Structure    ....  xxi 

§  5.  Its  Style xxv 

Narration — Character-drawing — Descriptions — 

Humor — Literary  Influences. 

§    6.     Figures  of  Speech xxx 

Simile— Metaphor — Metonymy — Synecdoche  — 

Allegory — Apostrophe. 

§    7.     The  Meter xxxii 

§    8.     Chronological  Outline    ....         xxxvi 

§    9.     Critical  Opinions xxxix 

§  10.     Topics  for  Study  and  Review  Questions      .  xliii 

THE  COURTSHIP   OF   MILES  STANDISIL      ....  1 

I.    Miles  Standish 1 

II.     Love  and  Friendship *<' 

III.  The  Lover's  Errand 13 

IV.  John  Alden 21 

V.     The  Sailing  of  the  "Mayflower"   ....  29 

VI.     Priscilla 37 

VII.     The  March  of  Miles  Standish 42 

VIII.     The  Spinning-Wheel 48 

IX.     The  Wedding-Day 54 


CONTENTS.  VU 


PAGE 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS  .        .        .        .  .        .61 

From  ' '  Voices  of  the  Night. "  •   ■  • 

A  Psalm  of  Life 61 

The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers 62 

Footsteps  of  Angels 63 

The  Beleaguered  City 65 

From  "  Earlier  Poems.^' 

Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns 67 

Burial  of  the  Minnisink 68 

From  **  Ballads  and  Other  Poems." 

The  Skeleton  in  Armor 70 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus 75 

The  Village  Blacksmith 78 

Excelsior 80 

From  *'  The  Belfry  of  Bruges  and  Other  Poems.'" 

The  Belfry  of  Bruges 81 

The  Arsenal  at  Springfield 84 

Nuremberg 86 

The  Norman  Baron 89 

Rain  in  Summer 91 

The  Bridge 94 

Seaweed .97 

The  Day  is  Done     .        .        , 98 

The  Arrow  and  the  Song 100 

The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs        .                 ....  100 

From  "  TJie  Seaside  and  the  Fireside.'" 

The  Building  of  the  Ship 103 

Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert 115 

The  Fire  of  Drift-wood 117 

Resignation 119 

From  "  Birds  of  Passage,  Flight  the  First.'" 

The  Ladder  op  St.  Augustine 121 

The  Warden  of  the  Cinque  Ports 122 

The  Emperor's  Bird's-nest      .,,....  124 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


The  Two  Angels 

Oliver  Basselin 

My  Lost  Youth 

The  Golden  Mile-stone 

Sandalphon 


PAGE 

126 
128 
130 
133 
135 


NOTES 


139 


INTRODUCTION.  . 

I.  Historical  Material. 
§  1.  A71  American  Poem. 

Eleven  years  after  the  appearance  of  "Evangeline/'' 
Longfellow  again  attempted  a  long  narrative  poem  in  the 
hexameter  meter.  The  result  was  "The  Courtship  of  Miles 
Standish,"  published  in  1858.  The  background  is  still 
American,  but  the  poet  has  passed  from  the  ruined  hamlets 
of  French  Acadia  to  the  bustling  village  of  Puritan  Plym- 
outh. In  subject,  the  transition  is  from  a  romance  of  tragic 
pathos  and  gloom  to  a  half -humorous  story  of  love  and  friend- 
ship. "Evangeline"  presents  scenes  of  domestic  happiness 
followed  by  disaster  and  heart-breaking  separation;  "The 
Courtship  "  pictures  the  stern  struggle  between  two  races,  and 
crowns  with  gladness  two  devoted  hearts. 

In  the  later  poem  Longfellow  has  come  nearer  home  for  a 
subject,  and  written  a  lovely  idyll  based  on  the  simple  but 
strenuous  life  of  his  Puritan  ancestors.  He  had  previously 
composed  a  number  of  ballads  and  lyrics  dealing  with  the 
legends  of  !N"ew  England,  and  tales  of  the  early  pioneers  pos- 
sessed a  peculiar  charni  for  his  imagination.  These  poems 
have  touched  the  hearts  of  his  readers  as  none  of  his  foreign 
subjects  have  done,  and  caused  him  to  be  regarded  as  our 
most  popular  and  representative  poet. 

"The  Courtship"  has  as  its  scene,  or  background,  a  real 
and  famous  chapter  'in  history — the  settlement  of  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  at  Plymouth  on  the  coast  of  Massachusetts.     Now, 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

in  order  to  study  the  poem  thoroughly,  we  shall  first  have  to 
make  ourselves  familiar  with  the  time  and  place  of  its  setting. 
We  must  also  know  a  good  deal  about  the  customs,  opinions, 
and  character  of  those  quaint  old  Pilgrims.  All  this  is  a  mat- 
ter of  history,  and  the  best  plan  will  be  to  read  some  of  the 
very  same  old  journals  and  chronicles  which  Longfellow  read 
before  writing  his  poem.  We  may  then  compare  the  bare 
facts  of  the  story  with  the  finished  masterpiece  which  his  art 
has  made  out  of  those  crude  materials.  This  will  be  having 
a  glimpse  into  the  poet's  workshop,  for  we  may  see  something 
of  the  process  by  which  he  changed  a  rough  backwoods  story 
into  a  charming  piece  of  literature. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  we  shall  notice  is  that  our 
author  has  taken  a  poet's  license  and  made  free  use  of  his 
sources.  He  has  cut  out  some  of  the  facts  and  put  in  others 
of  his  own  invention ;  and  the  parts  which  he  has  selected  to 
use,  he  has  changed  and  rearranged  to  suit  his  purpose.  He 
has  changed  the  time  and  relative  position  of  certain  events, 
developed  the  more  important,  and  toned  down  harsh  and  dis- 
agreeable features.  He  has  thus  done  what  all  great  artists  / 
know  so  well  how  to  do — idealized  his  subject.  ' 

§  2.   The  Pilgrims. 

We  must  first  know  something  about  the  people  in  the  little 
community  of  which  Priscilla  and  Alden  and  Captain  Stan- 
dish  formed  a  part.  Who  were  they,  where  did  they  come 
from,  and  how  did  they  happen  to  be  living  in  that  little  row 
of  eleven  log-cabins  on  the  "high  and  rock-bound  coast"  of 
New  England  ? 

The  Pilgrims  came  originally  from  England,  where  they 
formed  part  of  the  great  body  of  Puritans,  who  were  a  plain, 
pious,  industrious  people.  By  the  sixteenth  century  the 
Established  Church  of  England,  which  had  always  been  rit- 
^ualistic,  had  also  grown  exceedingly  worldly.  It  was  an  age 
of  intolerance,  and  men  persecuted  one  another  for  not  hold- 


INTKODUCTION.  XI 

ing  similar  religious  views.  The  Puritans,  as  the  name  im- 
plies, tried  to  purify  the  English  Church  from  what  Calvin 
called  "  Popish  dregs,"  such  as  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
using  the  ring  in  the  marriage  service,  and  wearing  the  sur- 
plice. They  were  strict  in  the  observance  of  moral,  social, 
and  religious  duties,  and  held  that  creeds,  ritualistic  modes  of^ 
worship,  and  the  lordly  pomp  of  bishops  were  opposed  to  the 
simple  and  equal  spirit  of  Christianity.  They  were  conse- 
quently persecuted  by  the  civil  authorities  for  their  noncon- 
formity to  the  views  of  the  State  Church. 

In  1580  a  number  of  the  Puritans,  known  as  Separatists, 
who  believed  in  free  preaching  and  a  simpler  form  of  wor- 
ship, separated  themselves  from  the  congregations  and  held 
services  in  private  houses.  William  Brewster  was  their  ruling 
elder,  and  John  Eobinson,  who  had  been  suspended  by  the 
bishop,  was  their  pastor.  King  James,  who  came  to  the 
throne  in  1603,  took  the  view  that  dissent  would  lead  to  dis- 
loyalty, and  persecuted  this  reformed  church. 

After  being  continually  harassed  by  the  ecclesiastical 
authorities,  the  Separatists,  with  other  dissenting  churches, 
removed,  in  1608,  to  Holland,  where  they  found  an  asylum 
and  religious  toleration.  They  first  settled  in  Amsterdam, 
aud  thence  went  to  Leyden.  ^'  After  residing  several  years  in' 
that  city,"  says  Holmes,  ''various  causes  influenced  them  to 
entertain  serious  thoughts  of  a  removal  to  America.  These 
causes  were,  the  unhealthiness  of  the  low  country  where  they 
lived;  the  hard  labors  to  which  they  were  subjected;  the  dis- 
sipated manners  of  the  Hollanders,  especially  their  lax  obser- 
vance of  the  Lord's  day;  the  apprehension  of  war  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  truce  between  Spain  and  Holland,  which  was 
then  near  its  close;  the  fear  lest  their  young  men  would  enter 
into  the  military  and  naval  service;  the  tendency  of  their 
little  community  to  become  absorbed  and  lost  in  a  foreign 
nation;  tiie  natural  and  pious  desire  of  perpetuating  a  church, 
which  they  believed  to  be  constituted  after  the  simple  and 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

pure  model  of  the  primitive  church  of  Christ;  and  a  com- 
mendable zeal  to  propagate  the  gospel  in  the  regions  of  the 
New  World."' 

The  problem  of  getting  across  the  Atlantic  was  a  difficult 
one  for  a  whole  community,  many  of  whom  were  poor.  The 
Pilgrims  sent  their  agents  to  England  to  see  what  could  be 
done.  A  joint  stock  company  was  formed  with  about  seventy 
London  merchants,  who  agreed  to  provide  the  transporta- 
tion." Hard  terms  were  imposed  on  the  colonists,  which  their 
circumstances  compelled  them  to  accept.  The  king  signed  a 
patent  incorporating  ''the  adventurers  to  the  northern  col- 
ony of  Virginia,"  by  which  they  were  authorized  to  establish 
a  plantation  somewhere  about  Hudson's  river. ^ 

The  Pilgrims  came  over  from  Leyden  in  July,  1620,  to  pre- 
pare for  the  dangerous  voyage,  and  to  take  a  last  farewell  of 
their  native  land.  The  parting  scene  at  the  beach  in  Holland 
is  the  subject  of  one  of  the  great  national  paintings  which 
hang  in  the  Capitol  at  Washington.  After  a  solemn  service 
and  many  pathetic  good-byes,  they  embarked  fror\i  South- 
ampton in  two  old-fashioned  sailing  ships,  the  "  Mayflower," 
one  hundred  and  eighty  tons  burden,  and  the  ''  Speedwell," 
sixty  tons.  They  were,  unfortunately,  obliged  to  return  twice 
on  account  of  the  leakiness  of  the  smaller  vessel.  At  last, 
after  many  discouragements,  on  September  G,  1620,  the 
"Mayflower"  sailed  alone  with  one  hundred  and  one  passen- 
gers, among  them  being  Miles  Standish  and  his  wife  Eose, 
Elder  Brewster,  Stephen  Hopkins,  Kichard  Warren,  Gilbert 
Winslow,  Jones,  captain  of  the  ship,  John  Alden,  and  Pris- 
cilla  Mullens  or  Molines,  all  of  whom  are  mentioned  in  our 
poem."  Carver,  Bradford,  and  Edward  Winslow  were  also  on 
board,  each  of  whom  became  governor  of  the  colony.  It  was 
a  remarkable  company,  all  with  stout  hearts  and  godly  char- 

'  Holmes's  Annals  of  America,  Part  II.,  Period  I.,  pp.  158,  159. 

'^  Capt.  John  Smith's  General  History  of  Virginia,  ii.,  p.  251. 

'  Hazard's  State  Papers,  i.,  p.  340. 

*  Bradford's  and  Winslow's  Journal  in  Young's  Chronicles,  chap.  ix. 


INTRODUCTION.  XIU 

acters,  and  worthy  to  be  the  founders  of  a  new  nation  beyond 
the  sea. 

After  a  stormy  voyage,  in  the  course  of  which  their  ship 
became  leaky  and  at  times  unmanageable,  they  joyfully  dis- 
covered land  off  Cape  Cod.  This  was  far  northward  of  their 
destination,  but  owing  to  the  advanced  season  of  the  year  and 
the  unseaworthy  condition  of  the  ''Mayflower,"  and  espe- 
cially to  the  treachery  of  the  captain,  they  dropped  anchor  in 
the  harbor  of  Plymouth.'  After  prayer  and  thanksgiving, 
a  compact  was  signed  by  which  the  Pilgrims  organized  them- 
selves into  a  body  politic  with  Carver  as  first  governor.'  On 
;N'ovember  13th,  says  Bradford,  "  Our  people  went  on  shore  to 
refresh  themselves,  and  our  women  to  wash,  as  they  had  great 
need."  On  the  loth  Captain  Standish  and  others  were  sent 
out  in  the  shallop  to  fetch  wood  and  seek  a  suitable  spot  for 
a  settlement.  On  this  expedition  they  brought  back  ten 
bushels  of  Indian  corn. 

The  feelings  of  these  homeless  wanderers  are  well  expressed 
in  the  following  letter,  written  by  one  of  them  from  the  cabin 
of  the  ''Mayflower":  "At  last,  praise  be  to  Cod!  we  lie 
within  sight  of  land,  but  what  a  land!  Stern  rocks  with 
cruel  waves  forever  dashing  upon  them,  black  forests  shelter- 
ing who  knows  what  fearful  creatures  and  still  more  fearful 
savages;  snow,  ice,  desolation,  at  every  hand;  no  houses,  no 
Christian  people,  no  sign  of  the  work  of  man.  I  had  almost 
said  no  sign  of  the  work  of  God.  Such  is  our  new  home;  and 
yet  we  have  no  choice  but  to  accept  it,  for  the  captain  says 
and  swears  that  he  will  carry  us  no  farther,  and  unless  we 
settle  where  we  will  establish  ourselves  without  more  delay, 
he  will  put  us  ashore  at  the  nearest  point." 

The  final  landing  occurred  on  Thursday,  December  21, 
1620,  on  a  high  ground  where  some  land  had  been  cleared  by 
the  savages  for  planting  corn,  and  a  sweet  brook  ran  under 

1  Prince's  Chronological  History  of  New  England,  Part  II. 

2  Morton's  New  England's  Memorial,  pp.  37-39. 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

the  hill-side.  They  selected  an  eminence^  and  erected  a  plat- 
form on  which  they  planted  their  ordnance  so  as  to  command 
all  the  country  about.'  This  was  Burial  Hill,  referred  to  in 
the  poem,  from  which  was  an  extensive  prospect  of  Gurnet's 
Nose,  the  shore  and  ocean  for  miles  around.  The  spot  had 
been  marked  Plymouth  on  a  chart  of  the  coast  made  by  Cap- 
tain John  Smith,  and  was  the  name  of  the  port  from  which 
they  had  last  sailed  in  England. 

Here  the  men  erected  a  log-cabin  '' twenty  feet  square  for 
their  common  use,  to  receive  them  and  their  goods."  In  a 
short  time  they  had  built  three  more  houses  for  the  nse  of 
the  plantation  and  seven  for  individual  families,  which  were 
arranged  in  two  rows.'^  Lots  were  measured  off  and  assigned 
"for  meersteads  and  garden-plots"  to  the  nineteen  families 
into  w^hich  the  hundred  colonists  had  been  grouped.  They 
were  fortunately  not  molested  by  the  Indians,  for  a  recent 
plague  had  swept  away  most  of  the  natives  of  that  region.^ 
Later,  however,  the  settlers  w6re  frequently  alarmed  by  the 
cries  of  the  savages  and  the  great  forest  fires  kindled  by  them. 
The  first  visit  from  an  Indian  was  that  of  the  sagamore  Samo- 
set,  who  on  March  16th  walked  boldly  into  the  settlement 
calling  out,  "Welcome,  Englishmen!"  He  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  Massasoit,  the  king  of  the  neighboring  tribe,  who 
made  a  league  of  friendship  with  the  whites  which  was  kept 
inviolably  for  fifty  years.''  In  1623  a  formidable  conspiracy 
against  the  English  settlers  was  formed  by  the  Massachusetts 
tribe,  nnder  the  leadership  of  Wittuwamet  and  Pecksuot.  It 
was  promptly  put  down  by  Standish,  both  the  chiefs  being 
killed,  and  the  former's  head  being  set  up  on  the  fort.^  This 
incident  forms  a  part  of  Longfellow's  plot. 

'  Bradford's  Journal^  December  20. 

2  Prince's  Chronological  History^  p.  168. 

3  Higginson's  New  England  Plantation,  1630,  and  Morton's  Nexo  England'' s  Memxyrial 
(Davis),  pp.  51,  52. 

*  Holmes's  Annals  of  America,  pp.  166-68. 
6  Idem,  p.  181. 


INTRODUCTION".  XV 

The  sufferings  of  the  first  winter  (1620-21)  failed  to 
shake  the  resohition  of  the  Pilgrims.  Though  frost  and  foul 
weather  hindered  them  much  in  their  building,  it  was  provi- 
dentially a  very  mild  winter  for  that  latitude,'  otherwise  the 
colony  could  hardly  have  survived.  Half  of  the  entire  com- 
pany died,  "the  greatest  part,"  says  Bradford,  ''in  the 
depth  of  winter,  wanting  houses  and  other  comforts,  being 
infected  with  the  scurvy  and  other  diseases,  which  their  long 
voyage  and  unaccommodate  condition  brought  upon  them.''^ 
Dudley  wrote  home:  "  It  may  be  said  of  us  almost  as  of  the 
Egyptians,  that  there  is  not  a  house  where  there  is  not  one 
dead,  and  in  some  houses  many."  ^  Wood  tells  us  that  this 
terrible  mortality  was  due  to  their  tainted  sea-diet  and  lack  of 
warm  housing  and  bedding."*  Their  sublime  faith  enabled 
them  to  support  all  these  discouragements  and  disasters  with 
extraordinary  patience.  Their  manner  of  disposing  of  the 
dead  alluded  to  in  the  poem  is  explained  by  this  quotation 
from  Dr.  Holmes:  "Tradition  gives  us  an  affecting  picture 
of  the  infant  colony  during  this  critical  and  distressing  period. 
The  dead  were  buried  on  the  bank,  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  rock  where  the  fathers  landed;  and,  lest  the  Indians 
should  take  advantage  of  the  weak  and  wretched  state  of  the 
English,  the  graves  were  levelled  and  sown  for  the  purpose  of 
concealment."'  * 

In  spite  of  these  accumulated  hardships  and  appalling  losses, 
the  Pilgrims  did  not  abandon  their  settlement.  Strange  to 
say,  when  the  "  Mayflower"  set  sail  for  England  in  April,  not 
one  took  advantage  of  the  chance  to  return  home.  Hence- 
forth America  was  to  be  their  home. 

The  Plymouth  colony  grew  so  slowly  that  by  1630  there 
were  only  three  hundred  persons  in  the  community.     Lack  of 

*  Young's  Chronicles  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  p.  123. 

2  Bradford's  Journal,  in  Young,  pp.  197, 198. 

3  Massachusetts  Historical  Collections,  viii.  43. 

*  Wood's  New  England 's  Prospect,  chap.  ii. 
•Holmes's  Annals  of  America. 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

capital  prevented  them  from  engaging  in  cod-fishing,  and  furs 
bartered  from  the  natives  were  almost  their  only  articles  of 
export.  The  merchant  adventurers  were  disappointed  at  the 
small  return  from  their  investment;  and  though  holding  the 
settlers  to  their  labor  contract,  refused  them  further  aid. 
The  colonists  did  succeed,  however,  in  1625,  through  their 
agent.  Captain  Standish,  in  borrowing  £200  at  the  exorbitant 
rate  of  30  per  cent. 

During  the  next  six  years  they  managed,  by  hard  labor  and 
strict  economy,  to  buy  up  the  shares  of  the  London  merchants 
for  £1,800.  From  this  time  they  were  really  free  men,  and 
could  spend  what  they  earned  in  developing  the  settlement. 
The  Plymouth  Plantation  ended  its  distinct  existence  in  1691, 
when  it  was  incorporated  with  the  Massachusetts  Bay  Colony. 

§  3.   The  Characters, 

Such  was  the  community  that  Longfellow  chose  as  the  set- 
ting for  his  story.  He  makes  us  feel,  as  we  read  the  poepi 
that  old  Plymouth  atmosphere  with  its  strange  mixture  of 
stern  enthusiasm,  austere  piety,  and  undemonstrative  tender- 
ness. Under  a  cold  and  forbidding  outside  glowed  many  a 
heart  that  was  warm  and  true.  The  deep  human  feelings  of 
the  characters  stand  out  in  all  the  stronger  relief  because  of 
this  contrast  with  their  surroundings.  Just  as  the  little  may- 
flower  (our  trailing  arbutus)  is  all  the  sweeter  and  more  pre- 
cious because  it  blooms  among  the  rocks  and  dying  leaves  and 
melting  snow,  so  is  the  blossoming  of  the  love  of  the  dear  Puri- 
tan girl  the  more  beautiful  for  its  uncongenial  environment. 

This  scenic  background  of  ''  The  Courtship  ''  is  not  its  only 
historical  feature,  for  all  the  principal  characters  are  based 
on  real  persons.  Priscilla,  Alden,  and  Standish  had  in  Plym- 
outh their  living  counterparts  who  are  mentioned  by  name 
in  the  early  chronicles.  By  comparing  these  originals  with 
Longfellow's  characters  we  may  get  a  glimpse  of  his  method 
of  work.     We  shall  then  be  able  to  say  how  far  the  poet  has 


INTRODUCTION.  xvil 

added  to  or  subtracted  from  their  characters,  and  to  what 
extent  he  has  idealized  them. 

Much  less  is  known  of  Priscilla  Mullens  than  of  either  of 
her  rival  suitors.  From  this  simple  fact  we  may  infer  that 
hers  was  a  sweet,  retiring  nature  that  avoided  publicity.  No 
doubt  she  regarded  the  log  home  her  proper  sphere,  and  was 
happy  with  the  domestic  duties  of  the  fireside  and  garden. 

On  the  passenger  list  of  the  "Mayflower"  were  the  names 
of  "  Mr.  William  Mullines  and  his  wife,  and  two  children, 
Joseph  and  Priscilla;  and  a  servant,  Robart  Carter."  A 
later  record  states  that  "Mr.  Molines,  and  his  wife,  his  son, 
and  his  servant,  dyed  the  first  winter.  Only  his  daugh- 
ter Priscilla  survived  and  married  with  John  Alden,  who  are 
both  living  and  have  eleven  children.'"  Her  father  was  the 
tenth  signer  of  the  Compact,  and  Morton  mentions  him  as 
"a  man  pious  and  well  deserving,  endowed  also  with  a  con- 
siderable outward  estate;  and  had  it  been  the  will  of  God  that 
he  had  survived,  might  have  proved  a  useful  instrument  in 
hxS  place."  '  It  was  a  dreadful  experience  thus  to  lose  all  her 
relatives  within  a  few  weeks  in  a  strange  land.  But  there  is 
evidence  that  she  did  not  give  herself  up  entirely  to  grief,  but 
ministered  to  the  sick  and  dying.  "  There  die  sometimes 
two  or  three  a  day,"  says  an  eye-witness.  "Of  a  hundred 
persons  scarce  fifty  remain;  the  living  scarce  able  to  bury  the 
dead;  the  well  not  sufiicient  to  tend  the  sick,  there  being,  in 
their  time  of  greatest  distress,  but  six  or  seven,  who  spare  no 
pains  to  help  them."  ^ 

The  records  are  meager,  but  from  what  we  know  of  condi- 
tions at  Plymouth,  we  may  infer  much  in  regard  to  Priscilla's 
good  constitution,  which  must  have  been  sound  indeed  to 
withstand  such  hardships.  She  must  have  been  a  brave  girl 
to  outlive  those  distressing  experiences,  and  her  womanly 
I 

1  Bradford's  History  of  the  Plimouth  Plantation,  p.  452. 

^  Morton's  New  England 's  Memorial,  p.  50. 

*  Bradford's  and  Winslow's  Journal  (Young),  p.  198. 


xvm  INTRODUCTION. 

character  must  have  matured  rapidly.  Longfellow  was  de- 
scended from  his  beautiful  heroine  through  his  mother.  Miss 
Wadsworth,  and  no  doubt  has  drawn  her  true  in  the  main  to 
the  family  traditions  faithfully  handed  down.  She  was  "the 
loveliest  maid  in  Plymouth,"  modest,  yet  frank,  and  true  to 
her  own  heart  ;  industrious,  sympathetic,  endowed  with  a 
delicate  sense  of  humor,  practical,  and  deeply  pious.  From 
an  entry  in  the  poet's  Journal  in  December,  1857,  we  learn 
that  he  thought  then  of  giving  her  name  to  the  poem.  "I 
begin  a  new  poem,"  he  wrote,  "' '  Priscilla,'  to  be  a  kind  of 
Puritan  pastoral;  the  subject,  the  courtship  of  Miles  Stan- 
dish." 

We  know  slightly  more  of  John  Alden.  He  was  born  in 
England  in  1599.  His  trade  and  general  reputation  are  set- 
tled by  a  reference  in  Bradford:  ''  He  was  hired  for  a  cooper 
at  Southampton  where  the  ship  victualled;  and  being  a  hope- 
ful young  man,  was  much  desired,  but  left  to  his  own  liking 
to  go  or  to  stay,  when  he  came  here  (to  Plymouth,  that  is) ; 
but  he  stayed  and  married  here."  ^  He  was  twenty-one  years 
of  age  when  he  embarked  in  the  "Mayflower,"  and  we  find 
it  hard  not  to  believe  that  the  presence  of  a  certain  maiden 
on  that  ship  helped  him  to  decide. 

He  was  the  seventh  to  sign  the  Compact,  and  took  an  active 
share  in  organizing  the  government  of  the  new  settlement. 
When  the  Pilgrims  grouped  themselves  into  nineteen  families, 
so  that  they  might  build  fewer  houses,  all  single  men  that 
had  no  families  being  willing  to  join  with  some  family,  Alden, 
being  a  ready  writer,  was  attached  to  Captain  Standish  as  his 
secretary.  Further  than  the  fact  of  his  having  wedded  Pris- 
cilla,  little  more  is  known  of  his  history,  except  that  he  served 
as  a  magistrate  for  more  than  fifty  years,  and  was  of  great  assist- 
ance in  planting  the  colony  firmly.  He  died  at  Duxbury  on 
September  12,  1687. 

From  these  suggestions  we  may  trace  the  character  of  Alden 

1  History  of  the  PlimoutJi  Plantation. 


INTRODUCTION".  XIX 

as  it  rounded  out  in  all  its  gentleness,  unselfishness,  sensitive- 
ness, and  nobility.  The  poet  has  so  delicately  and  strongly 
treated  the  young  man's  loyalty  to  his  companion,  that  he 
has  immortalized  it  as  one  of  the  famous  friendships  of  liter- 
ature. 

Captain  Standish  is  more  of  a  genuine  historical  personage 
than  his  scholar-friend.  He  was  born  in  Lancashire,  Eng- 
land, in  1584,  ^'a  gentleman,''  says  Morton,  "and  heir  ap- 
parent unto  a  great  estate  of  land  and  livings,  surreptitiously 
detained  from  him,  his  grandfather  being  a  second  or  younger 
brother  from  the  house  of  Standish."  '  One  of  his  name  had 
been  knighted  for  slaying  Wat  Tyler,  and  another.  Sir  John 
Standish,  had  fought  at  Agincourt  in  1415.  Young  thinks 
that  the  captain  was  "a  scion  of  this  ancient  and  warlike 
stock  from  his  giving  the  name  of  Duxbury  to  the  town  where 
he  settled,  and  calling  his  son  Alexander."  ^ 

From  his  subsequent  career  it  is  evident  that  plenty  of  good 
warrior  blood  flowed  in  his  veins.  Educated  as  a  soldier,  he 
fought  as  a  lieutenant  in  the  forces  sent  over  by  Queen  Eliza- 
beth to  aid  the  Dutch  against  the  Spaniards.  During  the 
truce  he  attached  himself  to  Robinson  and  his  congregation, 
though  he  never  became  a  member  of  the  church.  Liking 
their  principles,  or  perhaps  through  mere  love  of  adventure, 
he  accompanied  them  to  America  as  their  military  leader. 

There  is  frequent  mention  of  him  in  the  Plymouth  chroni- 
cles. He  is  described  as  "  a  man  of  small  stature,  but  of  such 
an  active  and  daring  spirit  that  he  spread  terror  through  all 
the  Indian  tribes."  His  little  army  of  sixteen  men,  which 
had  been  drilled  into  a  perfect  fighting  machine,  was  able  to 
defeat  twenty  times  their  number  of  savages.  Their  captain's 
daring,  skill  in  dealing  with  the  natives,  and  his  promptness 
in  suppressing  their  conspiracies  is  shown  in  an  expedition 
against  the   Massachusetts  in  1623.      Longfellow  works  the 

1  New  England's  Memorial,  ]).  262. 
8  Young's  Chronicles,  chap,  ix.,  p.  126. 


XX  TNTRODUOTTON. 

incideut  into  his  poem  finely.  *'The  governor,  on  receiving 
this  intelligence/'  says  Holmes,  ''which  was  confirmed  by 
other  evidences,  ordered  Standish  to  take  with  him  as  many 
men  as  he  should  judge  sufficient,  and,  if  a  plot  should  be 
discovered,  to  fall  on  the  conspirators.  Standish,  with  eight 
men,  sailed  to  the  Massachusetts,  where  the  natives,  suspecting 
his  design,  insulted  and  threatened  him.  Watching  his  op- 
jiortunity,  when  four  of  them,  Wittuwamet,  Pecksuot,  another 
Indian,  and  a  youth  of  eighteen,  brother  of  Wittuwamet,  and 
about  as  many  of  his  own  men,  were  in  the  same  room,  he 
gave  a  signal  to  his  men;  the  door  was  instantly  shut;  and 
snatching  the  knife  of  Pecksnot  from  his  neck,  he  killed  him 
with  it,  after  a  violent  struggle;  his  party  killed  Wittuwamet, 
and  the  other  Indian,  and  hung  the  youth.  Proceeding  to 
another  place,  Standish  killed  an  Indian;  and  afterwards  had 
a  skirmish  with  a  party  of  Indians,  which  he  put  to  flight. 
Weston's  men  also  killed  two  Indians.  Standish,  with  that 
generosity  which  characterizes  true  bravery,  released  the  In- 
dian women,  without  taking  their  beaver  coats,  or  allowing 
the  least  incivility  to  be  offered  to  them."  ^ 

The  military  training  of  Captain  Standish  was  invaluable 
at  a  time  when  fighting  was  necessary  to  existence.  But  he 
knew  how  to  do  other  things  as  well.  Another  and  equally 
admirable  side  of  the  little  soldier  appears  in  Governor  Brad- 
ford's narrative  of  ''the  terrible  winter''  already  referred  to. 
When  all  but  seven  of  the  settlers  were  ill,  "a  rare  example 
and  worthy  to  be  remembered  were  Mr.  William  Brewster, 
their  reverent  elder,  and  Myles  Standish,  their  captain  and 
military  commander,  unto  whom  myself,  and  many  others 
were  much  beholden  in  our  low  and  sick  condition;  and  yet 
the  Lord  so  upheld  these  persons,  as  in  this  general  calamity 
they  were  not  at  all  infected  either  with  sickness  or  lame- 
ness." Elsewhere  we  are  given  particulars  of  how  these  men 
"spared  no  pains,  night  nor  day,  but  with  abundance  of  toil 

^  AnnaU  of  America^  p.  181. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

and  hazard  of  their  own  health,  fetched  them  wood,  made 
them  fires,  dressed  them  meat,  made  their  beds,  washed  their 
loathsome  clothes,  clothed  and  unclothed  them.''^  Miles 
Standish  performed  for  his  friends  and  brethren  all  of  these 
homely  and  necessary  offices  willingly  and  cheerfully  without 
any  grudging.  One  of  the  deaths  was  that  of  his  wife.  Rose 
Standish,  who  came  over  in  the  '^  Mayflower.- '  His  second 
wife  was  Barbara  (family  name  unknown),  an  orphan  sister  of 
Rose.  She  was  left  behind  in  England,  but  reached  Plym- 
outh afterwards  in  the  ^'Fortune.''  They  had  six  children, 
and  many  of  their  descendants  are  now  living.  In  1625  he 
was  selected  as  agent  of  the  colony  to  make  a  settlement  with 
the  company  in  London,  and  negotiated  the  loan  mentioned 
above.  He  was  one  of  the  proprietors  and  first  settlers  of 
Duxbury,  where  he  served  as  magistrate  for  the  rest  of  his 
life.  In  1649  he  assisted  in  the  settlement  of  Bridgewater. 
He  died  on  October  3,  1656,  leaving  a  name,  like  that  of  Cap- 
tain John  Smith  of  Virginia,  forever  enrolled  in  the  history 
of  his  country.  At  Duxbury  there  has  been  erected  in  his 
honor  a  lofty  stone  shaft  surmounted  by  a  bronze  statue. 

II.  Study  of  the  Poem. 

§  4.  Its  Form  and  Structure. 

One  of  the  first  things  to  do  in  studying  a  piece  of  litera- 
ture is  to  determine  its  form.  Is  it  prose  or  poetry  ?  If  the 
latter,  is  its  structure  dramatic,  lyric,  or  narrative  ?  In  case 
it  belongs  to  the  last  named  class,  we  examine  it  further  to 
see  whether  it  is  an  epic,  an  allegory,  a  ballad,  a  pastoral 
poem,  or  a  verse-romance.  Many  of  the  scenes  of  ^'The 
Courtship,"  especially  in  Parts  III.,  YIII.,  and  IX.,  are  pas- 
toral, or  idyllic,  in  their  character,  but  its  unity  of  purpose, 
its  well-ordei'ed  plot,  its  sustained  narrative  power,  its  dra- 

1  Bradford's  History  of  the  Plimouth  Plantation,  Hart  reprint,  pp.  349,  350. 


Xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

matic  situations,  and  its  picturesque  and  romantic  features 
will  incline  us  to  class  it  as  a  verse-romance. 

Like  its  companion  poem,  "Evangeline/'  it  is  a  tale  of 
true  love  whose  course  does  not  run  smooth,  but  of  which  it 
may  be  happily  said  that  all's  well  that  ends  well.  It  is  less 
tragic  and  passionate  than  the  story  of  the  wandering  French 
girl,  but  in  both  we  breathe  the  sweet  fresh  air  of  the  forest. 
"  The  Courtship  "  keeps  more  on  the  plane  of  everyday  life, 
and  to  that  extent  is  less  idealistic  and  more  realistic.  One 
evidence  of  this  is  the  greater  amount  of  humor  in  the  Puri- 
tan poem  and  the  absence  of  any  deep  and  soul-stirring 
pathos.  The  underlying  motive  of  the  poem  is  to  be  found 
in  the  question  which  Priscilla  asks  so  coyly  yet  tremulously : 

*'  Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself,  John  ?  " 

In  *' Evangeline''  the  improbable  happens,  but  in  **The 
Courtship  "  it  is  the  likely,  the  probable,  and  the  inevitable. 
Both  strike  a  homely,  tender  note  in  the  heart,  and  we  are 
reminded  of  the  sadness  as  well  as  the  gladness  of  living.  In 
both  are  simple  lives,  deep  piety,  and  unaffected  manners, 
but  there  is  a  wide  difference  in  the  real  character  of  the 
people.  The  Acadians  are  weak,  childlike,  emotional;  the 
Puritans,  strong,  practical,  undemonstrative.  The  former 
are  ready  to  bubble  over  with  sentiment,  and  are  willing  to 
submit  to  their  fate ;  the  latter  are  proud,  masterful,  inclined 
to  brood,  and  have  iron  in  their  blood.  We  see  the  racial 
distinction  between  the  Celt  and  the  Saxon.  In  the  present 
work  Longfellow  was  among  his  own  people,  and  more  at 
home,  and  his  touch  is  surer  in  detail,  he  is  more  humorous, 
more  colloquial.  In  the  revelation  of  the  universal  human 
heart  neither  poem  can  claim  precedence. 

The  plot,  or  chain  of  events  that  make  up  the  story,  of 
*'The  Courtship"  is  more  simple,  and  more  skilfully  con- 
structed than  that  of  "Evangeline."  It  is  true,  the  move- 
ment in  the  former  is  less  complex  than  in  the  latter.     The 


INTEODUCTIOK  XXIU 

introduction  to  ''The  Courtship*'  is  shorter,  more  dramatic, 
and  puts  you  more  quickly  right  into  the  midst  of  the  action. 

There  is  always  something  in  every  story  to  cause  the 
trouble  and  delay  the  happy  ending.  We  may  call  this  the 
exciting  force,  or  motive,  which  is  that  two  good  friends  want 
the  same  girl.  The  love  of  Alden  and  Standish  for  Priscilla 
runs  counter  to  their  long  friendship,  and  makes  them  all 
unhappy  for  a  time,  but  the  heart  and  good  sense  of  the  girl 
solve  one  problem,  and  the  friendship  of  the  rivals  stands  the 
test.  The  contrast  between  the  robust,  active  soldier  and  the 
refined,  dreamy  scholar  is  so  great  that  w^e  never  seriously 
expect  a  tragedy.  The  author  avoids  too  serious  a  tone 
because  that  would  have  been  out  of  keeping  with  his  plan. 

The  course  of  the  story  is  marked  by  crises.  A  crisis  is 
some  exciting,  or  dramatic,  situation  worked  up  between  two 
or  more  people,  but  sometimes  a  crisis  may  be  in  the  mental 
agony  or  the  sonl-conflict  of  one  person.  The  first  crisis  in 
this  poem  is  when  Standish  asks  Alden  as  a  friend  to  do  an 
almost  impossible  thing;  the  second  is  the  struggle  in  Alden's 
mind  between  his  friendship  for  the  man  and  his  love  for  the 
woman.  It  will  be  interesting  for  the  pupil  to  find  other 
crises,  and  explain  the  interest  of  each  situation. 

The  entire  plot  may  be  divided  into  two  more  general  move- 
ments, which  we  shall  call  the  complication  and  the  resolu- 
tion. They  bear  to  each  other  the  relation  of  cause  to  effect. 
The  turning-point  from  one  to  the  other  is  the  most  impor- 
tant crisis  of  the  book,  and  is  called  the  climax.  In  ''  The 
Courtship  "  the  climax  is  placed  in  the  mechanical  center  of 
the  poem  in  Part  Y.,  where  Alden  is  restrained  from  sailing 
away  in  the  '' Mayflower '^  by  the  love-luring  look  of  Pris- 
cilla. Everything  goes  wrong  up  to  that  point;  all  the  diffi- 
culties both  external  and  conscientious  begin  to  unravel  after 
that  soul-revealing  glance  by  Avhich  the  girl  holds  her  lover 
from  taking  the  irrevocable  step.  Had  he  taken  it,  the  result 
would  have  been    tragic,  but  Longfellow  wished  this   tale. 


XXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

unlike  *'  Evangeline/'  to  have  a  happy  ending,  like  a  com- 
edy. The  ending  of  a  tragedy  is  called  the  catastrophe ;  that 
of  a  comedy,  the  denouernent. 

The  tangling  of  the  ])lot  goes  on  steadily,  step  by  step,  each 
crisis  adding  another  knot,  until  we  reach  the  great  central 
crisis,  the  climax  at  the  beach  scene.  From  this  point  the 
unravelling  of  the  knot  goes  on  rapidly.  After  that  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  the  final  result.  The  interest  of  the  story 
is  reawakened  by  shifting  the  story  from  the  lovers  to  the 
bold  exploit  of  Miles  Standish,  his  exciting  fight  with  the 
Indians,  and  the  danger  to  the  colony.  This  also  gives  a 
pleasing  variety  to  the  reader,  who  besides  is  kept  in  an  anx- 
ious state  of  mind  as  to  how  the  captain  will  act  toward  the 
lovers.  This  suspense  is  broken  by  the  report  of  his  death, 
only  to  have  the  surprise  and  anxiety  renewed  when  he  sud- 
denly appears  at  the  wedding.  The  scene  at  the  end  of  Part 
III.  also  plays  an  interesting  part  in  the  development  of  the 
plot.  What  at  first  seems  to  make  matters  worse  for  poor 
John,  really  brings  in  an  element  which  in  the  end  is  to 
straighten  out  the  whole  tangle,  and  so  Priscilla's  choice  is 
hinted  at  very  delicately  and  humorously.  AVe  feel  that  if 
she  loves  and  prefers  Alden,  then  the  soldier  will  never  get 
her.  A  woman's  heart  will  always  find  a  way  to  its  love. 
But  even  after  the  love-story  becomes  stationary,  we  do  not 
lose  interest,  because  there  is  still  the  possible  danger  from 
Alden 's  military  rival. 

When  we  compare  the  poem  with  the  actual  events  given 
under  "  Historical  Material,"  we  see  with  what  freedom 
Longfellow  treats  his  material.  He  rearranges  the  order  of 
certain  events,  and  regulates  the  length  of  time  which  he 
wishes  to  elapse  between  the  various  parts  of  his  story.  There 
is  this  entry  in  Governor  Bradford's  "  Journal " : '  ''  Jan.  29, 
dies  Rose,  the  wife  of  Captain  Standish."  Another  entry 
settles  the  date  of  the  sailing  of  the  ''  Mayflower  " :  "  April  5. 

1  Prince's  Chronological  History  of  New  England,  t^.  184. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXV 

We  despatch  the  ship  with  Captain  Jones,  who  this  day  sails 
from  New  Plymouth."^  Again,  the  suppression  of  the  In- 
dian conspiracy  occurred  in  March,  1623,  according  to  Win- 
slow's  ^' Journal.'^  All  these  events  are  brought  together  in 
the  poem.  The  dates  help  us  to  determiue  the  time  of  the 
action.  It  is  strange  that  the  poet  should  represent  the  cap- 
tain as  sending  Priscilla  a  proposal  of  marriage  only  about 
two  months  after  the  death  of  his  wife  Rose.  We  conclude, 
however,  that  Longfellow  chose  the  spring  of  1631  for  the 
time  of  the  action,  and  has  grouped  all  of  the  events  which  took 
place  from  1621  to  1623  in  the  former  year.  He  has  not  held 
closely  to  the  history,  but  has  aimed  to  present  a  vivid  and 
true  picture  representative  in  its  main  outlines  of  the  life  of 
the  Puritan  colony.  All  this  shows  that  Longfellow  was  both 
a  good  story-teller  and  a  wise  and  clever  artist. 

§  5.   The  Style  of  tlie  Poem, 

After  having  studied  the  framework  of  our  poem,  and  seen 
how  the  author  has  put  the  various  parts  together,  we  are 
ready  to  examine  the  style  and  various  internal  features,  such 
as  the  method  of  character  drawing,  the  humor,  the  pathos, 
the  description,  the  figures  of  speech,  and  the  literary  influ- 
ences. 

Considered  as  a  piece  of  narration,  '*'  The  Courtship"  is  a 
model  of  concise  and  rapid  story-telling.  Each  part  contains 
an  incident  of  its  own,  and  each  is  told  in  such  a  spirited  way 
as  to  hold  the  reader's  interest.  We  never  saw  any  one  who 
did  not  enjoy  a  lively  tale  of  love  and  adventure.  When  we 
compare  the  events  in  the  poem  with  the  original  records,  we 
feel  that  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  the  dry,  common- 
place style  of  the  annalists,  and  the  lively,  fresh,  and  imag- 
inative style  of  the  poet.  There  is  ease,  grace,  and  life  in 
Longfellow's  way  of  telling  the  old  Puritan  legend.  This  is 
the  result  of  his  good  training  and  artistic  taste.     When  he 

1  Young's  Chronicles  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  p.  199. 


XXVI  INTRODUCTION. 

wrote  this  poem  he  was  at  his  best  in  point  of  mental  maturity 
and  technical  skill.  He  is  never  obscure,  the  right  word  is 
invariably  found,  and  there  is  a  knack  of  making  phrases  that 
stick  in  the  memory.  Longfellow's  imagination  was  not  of 
the  highest  order,  and  there  is  here  no  attempt  to  carry  us  to 
depths  of  profound  thought,  or  to  heights  of  human  passion. 
He  rather  strikes  the  happy  medium  of  feeling  and  reflection, 
and  thus  appeals  more  than  any  other  poet  of  our  country  to 
the  young. 

A  pleasing  feature  of  the  style  is  the  use  of  halance,  in  which 
words  or  phrases  are  paired  off  so  as  to  produce  the  effect  of 
light  and  shade.     Examples  are: 

^'Angels  of  light  they  seem,  but  are  only  delusions  of  Satan,'^  III.  18. 
"  Borne  on  the  send  of  the  sea,  and  the  swelling  hearts  of  the  Pilgrims,'' 

V.  127. 
^^  Friendship  vf SiQ  in  i\iQ\v  looks,  but  in  their  hearts  there  was  hatred,'^ 

VII.  29. 

The  meter,  whose  movement  is  like  climbing  a  roof  to  the 
apex  and  then  descending,  lends  itself  admirably  to  this  prin- 
ciple of  contrast.  Another  favorite  device  is  that  of  rejje- 
tition,  w^hich  produces  an  effect  of  emphasis  and  clearness  and 
introduces  more  realistic  detail.  Instances  are  found  in 
IV.  10,  11;  21,  22;  Y.  9,  10;  26,  27;  36,  37;  89,  90;  VIII. 
3,  7;  31-32. 

Longfellow  is  by  instinct  artistic,  and  naturally  looks  at 
things  from  the  side  of  beauty.  There  is  a  tendency  to  give 
a  flavor  of  romance  to  his  work,  but  his  good  sense  and  sanity 
of  feeling  do  not  allow  him,  even  in  his  most  idealistic  moods, 
to  rise  too  high  above  the  kindly  earth.  Comparing  again 
what  he  has  put  into  his  poem  with  the  facts  of  the  chroni- 
cles, we  see  how  much  that  is  merely  disagreeable  he  has  left 
out.  He  has  written  to  please,  not  to  give  scenes  of  suffering, 
either  mental  or  physical.  Furthermore,  he  carefully  avoids 
preaching  a  sermon  or  inflicting  a  lesson  on  his  readers. 


INTKODUCTION.  XXVll 

Having  made  ourselves  familiar  with  the  principal  external 
qualities  of  our  author's  style,  we  are  ready  to  study  his  char- 
acters, and  see  how  and  why  he  has  drawn  them  in  a  certain 
way.  The  characters  in  ''The  Courtship"  are  well  chosen 
for  purposes  of  contrast  and  relief.  The  interest  in  a  love- 
story  will  always  center  in  the  heroine.  Priscilla  is  no  excep- 
tion. It  is  her  heart  that  is  at  stake,  and  she  holds  the  key 
to  every  situation.  Underlying  her  vein  of  arch  humor, 
which  reveals  but  one  side  of  her  girlish  mischievousness, 
there  is  the  deeper  womanly  nature,  patient,  wise,  and  sym- 
pathetic. Her  nature  is  a  simple,  wholesome  one,  character- 
ized by  humor,  tenderness,  and  good  sense.  She  is  not  to  be 
had  for  the  asking,  and  she  Avill  bestow  her  heart  only  where 
it  is  deserved.  The  refined  and  scholarly  temperament  and 
youth  of  Alden  are  more  congenial  to  her  than  the  experience, 
courage,  and  warlike  nature  of  Standish.  She  is  sweet,  pure- 
minded,  unselfish,  and  good  to  look  upon.  To  her,  love  is 
the  supreme  test,  and  her  memorable  advice  to  her  lover  is  in 
complete  accord  with  what  Shakespeare  says  on  the  same 
subject: 

*'  Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things 
Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love  : 
Therefore  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues  ; 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself 
And  trust  no  agent."  ^ 

And  therein  lies  the  chief  motive  and  moral  purpose  of  the 
poem.  It  shows  us  what  to  expect  whenever  love  and  friend- 
ship are  placed  in  opposition  or  conflict. 

John  Alden,  like  Orlando  in  ''As  You  Like  It,^'  cannot 
seem  much  of  a  hero,  for  Priscilla  has  already  made  her 
choice  in  his  favor  before  he  takes  her  the  captain's  proposal. 
He  has  in  him  a  strain  of  tender  and  pensive  sentiment  befit- 
ting his  character  of  scholar.  He  reflects  a  mood  that  the 
poet  is  fond  of  treating,  and  indeed  there  is  much  in  this 

'  Much  Ado  About  Nothing^  Act  II.,  Scene  i.,  11.  157-161. 


XXviii  INTRODUCTION. 

high-toned,  sensitive,  beautiful-souled  young  man  that  sug- 
gests the  maiden-hearted  Longfellow  himself.  The  clerk 
sharply  contrasts  with  the  soldier.  Each  is  a  loyal  type  of  a 
true  man,  but  each  has  something  the  otlier  lacks.  No  doubt 
this  like-unlikeness  was  the  bond  of  their  friendship.  One  is 
a  man  of  thought,  the  other  a  man  of  action.  Both  aspire 
from  different  motives  to  the  beautiful  heiress  of  the  settle- 
ment. Alden  is  fitted  for  conjugal  affection  and  domestic 
duty;  Standish  for  drilling  of  musketeers  and  browbeating 
Indian  chiefs.  The  latter  is  a  trifle  uneasy  in  the  presence 
of  a  woman,  whose  nature  he  does  not  understand.  He  imag- 
ines Priscilla  thundering  at  him  a  point-blank  "No!"  and 
thinks  that  wooing  should  be  conducted  in  the  elegant  and 
conventional  language  of  books!  lie  will  make  a  better  hus- 
band than  lover,  but  Priscilla  has  her  doubts.  He  has,  how- 
ever, a  profound  respect  for  her  sex,  and  speaks  affectionately 
of  his  dead  Eose.  Even  in  his  armor  he  is  not  an  imposing 
figure,  nor  one  likely  to  impress  a  girl's  imagination.  He  is 
too  quick  and  abrupt  in  his  movements,  too  self-assertive  and 
violent,  and  has  something  very  like  the  strut  of  the  bantam 
game-cock.  Yet  his  heart  is  right,  and  he  is  capable  of  true 
friendship  under  the  most  humiliating  circumstances. 

Longfellow's  descriptio7is  will  repay  analysis.  Th-e  strange- 
ness of  natural  phenomena  is  made  to  suggest  the  wonder  and 
mystery  of  human  life.  The  external  world — the  sea,  the 
forest,  the  sunset,  the  gray  mist,  the  bright  leaves,  the  ripe 
fruit,  the  cold  rain — gives  an  instrumental  effect  nicely  and 
appropriately  harmonizing  with  the  spirit  of  man.  The  pre- 
vailing hue  of  the  poem  is  gray,  befitting  the  sombre  Puritan 
mood,  but  it  is  sometimes  relieved  with  richly  colored  pic- 
tures, such  as  the  gorgeous  sunset  in  Part  IV.,  and  the 
autumnal  forest  in  Part  IX.  The  figures  of  his  persons  are 
sketched  with  a  few  rapid,  telling  strokes,  suggestive  rather 
than  detailed.  They  are  individualized  and  vitalized  rather 
by  what  they  say  and  do  than  by  the  descriptive  portraits. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXIX 

and  yet  there  is  enough  of  the  merely  pictorial  to  catch  the 
eye.  The  poem  lends  itself  readily  to  illustration.  Before  it 
had  been  out  of  the  press  a  month,  Longfellow  wrote  in  his 
diary:  "  November  28,  1858:  Ehringer  has  sent  me  a  beauti- 
ful illustration  of  'Miles  Standish.'  It  is  the  bridal  proces- 
sion going  through  the  woods,  and  is  full  of  feeling."  Many 
artists  have  since  then  embellished  the  story  with  pencil  and 
brush. 

The  whole  poem  is  sweetened  and  humanized  by  the  many 
delightful  sallies  of  humor,  which  is  relieved  now  and  then  by 
touches  of  pathos.  ''Evangeline"  is  full  of  pathos,  but 
"The  Courtship"  keeps  us  more  cheerful  than  sad.  Many 
of  the  speeches  are  bright  with  grave  wit  and  pleasantries. 
The  Puritans  were  not  noted  for  their  sense  of  the  ludicrous, 
but  the  settlers  at  Plymouth  were  a  shade  less  austere  than 
those  at  Boston.  That  they  had  a  species  of  grim  humor, 
however,  is  evident  from  their  methods  of  punishment.  Thus 
one  who  had  offended  by  the  use  of  improper  language  had 
his  tongue  pinched  for  two  hours  in  a  cleft  stick.  The  humor 
of  the  poem  is  of  the  quiet,  homely  sort,  not  broad  nor  forced. 
It  scarcely  makes  us  smile,  so  unobtrusive  is  it.  It  is  just  the 
sort  of  fun-making  we  should  look  for  among  a  people  with 
such  strict  religious  views,  and  to  whom  life  was  such  a  seri- 
ous business.  The  author  has  evidently  put  far  more  sun- 
shine into  his  characters  than  he  found  in  the  originals.  And 
yet  there  is  throughout  the  poem  that  unobtrusive  and  pleas- 
ing under-note  of  sadness,  deepening  now  and  then  into 
pathos,  which  is  often  noticed  even  in  the  happiest  lives. 

With  one  exception,  the  poem  is  singularly  free  from  book- 
ish influences.  That  exception  is  the  Bible,  from  which  there 
are  a  large  number  of  quotations  direct  and  indirect.  The 
phraseology  is  full  of  scriptural  words  and  allusions.  But  we 
must  remember  that  the  language  of  the  Bible  is  merely  the 
English  of  the  time  of  King  James  I.,  so  that  a  large  part  of 
the  vocabulary  of  the  characters  may  be  simply  that  of  the 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

seventeenth  centuiy.  The  Puritans  were  not  a  literary  peo- 
ple, but  the  effect  of  their  one  book  upon  their  style  was 
highly  beneficial.  "  The  Courtship ''  should  be  read  Bible  in 
hand.  The  pupil  who  wishes  to  know  more  about  the  reli- 
gious atmosphere  in  which  the  Puritans  lived,  will  do  well  to 
read  Macaulay's  brilliant  essay  on  "Milton,"  especially  the 
last  ten  pages.  He  will  then  understand  what  the  sacred 
writings  meant  to  a  sect  who  found  in  them  almost  their  sole 
means  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  culture. 

§  6.  Figiires  of  Speech. 

Imagery  is  frequently  used  in  poetry.  Its  purpose  is  to 
ornament  the  style  and  to  give  life  and  vigor  to  the  thought. 
Figures  are  to  a  poet  what  colors  are  to  a  painter.  Poetic 
thought  is,  on  the  whole,  more  condensed,  and  appeals  more 
to  the  imagination  than  prose  w^ork,  and  figures  are  a  con- 
venient means  of  reaching  those  ends.  Sometimes  they  have 
an  argumentative  value,  because  they  make  the  subject  clearer 
and  more  convincing. 

Longfellow's  figures  of  speech  are  generally  of  a  homely 
and  familiar  kind.  They  are  pictorial  in  their  effect,  and 
give  pleasure  to  the  mind  by  suggesting  a  comparison  between 
objects  not  usually  associated  together.  Thus  we  find  many 
striking  si7niles.  In  these  the  resemblance  is  indicated  by  as 
or  like,  as  in — 

{a)  "Brown  as  a  nut  was  his  face,"  I.  13. 

{h)  "  Where  thumb-marks  .  .  .  like  the  trample  of  feet,"  I.  79,  80. 
{c)   "  To  and  fro  in  his  breast  his  thoughts  were  heaving  and  dashing, 
As  in  a  foundering  ship,  .  .  .  washes  the  bitter  sea,"  III.  8-10. 
(d)  "  The  carded  wool  like  a  snow-drift,"  III.  44. 

In  each  of  these  examples  two  objects  are  brought  together 
in  thought  and  a  ground  of  comparison  is  discovered.  In 
(c)  there  is  a  relation  of  the  objects  something  like  a  pro- 
portion with  its  equality  of  ratios — A  :  B  :  :  C  :  D;  thus, 
thought  :  hreast  :  :  sea  :  ship.     In  III.  16,  17,  one  member  of 


INTKODUCTION.  XXX| 

the  proportion  is  implied — phantom  :  heai^t  :  :  exhalation  : 
[mar^sh].  It  will  be  observed  that  each  figure  produces  a 
certain  definite  effect,  conveying  a  more  vivid  impression  of 
color,  number,  size,  shape,  movement,  etc. 

There  is  a  second  class  of  figures  called  ^netajjhors.  Here 
the  similarity  of  one  object  to  another  is  more  concisely  stated 
with  a  gain  in  force.  A  metaphor  is  thus  an  abridged  simile. 
For  example,  in  I.  13,  14,  a  set  of  four  objects  are  brought 
into  relation  to  one  another;  viz.,  [gray  hairs]  :  beard  :  :  snow- 
flakes  :  hedges.  Other  uses  are  '*  sinews  of  iron,^'  I.  12;  "  my 
brazen  howitzer  ...  a  preacher,''  I.  46,  47;  "robins 
were  building  towns  in  the  populous  trees,''  III.  3,  4;  "the 
mayflowers  blooming  around  him  .  .  .  children  lost  in 
the  woods,"  III.  26-28. 

Still  a  different  kind  of  figure  is  found  in  I.  81,  "Nothing 
was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurrying  pen  of  the  stripling." 
There  the  cause  {the  jjen)  is  put  for  the  effect  {the  sound). 
In  VII.  80,  "death  unseen  ran  before  it,"  the  effect  {death) 
is  put  for  the  cause  {bullet).  This  figure  is  known  as  meton- 
ymy, which  means  a  change  of  name,  and  the  idea  is  named 
by  an  accompaniment  which  serves  the  writer's  purpose  better. 

Another  figure  called  synecdoche  is  seen  in  IV.  80,  "You, 
who  lived  under  my  roof,"  and  in  IV.  81,  "You,  who  have 
fed  at  my  board,"  in  which  a  part  of  some  object  or  the  mate- 
rial {roof,  board)  is  put  for  the  whole  {house,  table). 

There  is  a  figure  called  allegory,  which  is  a  sort  of  continued 
metaphor,  used  by  Longfellow  in  IV.  105:  "God  hath  sifted 
three  kingdoms  {i.e.,  England,  Scotland,  and  Holland)  to  find 
the  wheat  for  this  planting,  then  had  sifted  the  wheat,  as  the 
living  seed  of  a  nation."  In  a  perfect  allegory  all  mention 
of  the  real  object  in  the  writer's  mind  is  omitted.  A  better 
illustration  may  be  seen  in  Psalm  Ixxx.,  "Thou  hast  brought 
a  vine  out  of  Egypt,"  etc. 

In  IV.  10,  11,  "Welcome,  0  wind  of  the  East!"  etc.,  is 
a  beautiful  specimen  of  apostrophe,  which  consists  in  personi- 


XXxii  INTRODUCTION. 

fying  some  inanimate  object  and  then  addressing  it.  It  thus 
includes  the  figure  called  2^e'rsonification.  In  the  passage 
quoted  Alden  thinks  of  the  wind  as  a  living  being,  and  calls 
upon  it  to  wrap  him  in  its  mist-garments.  Another  similar 
use  is  seen  in  Y.  99:  ''Float,  0  hand  of  cloud,  and  vanish 
away  in  the  ether!  " 

§  7.   The  Meter.' 

When  we  begin  to  read  poetry  aloud,  we  become  aware  that 
one  of  the  great  differences  between  poetry  and  prose  lies  in 
what  is  called  meter.  Another  difference  lies  in  rhyme;  but 
although  rhyme  is  common  in  poetry,  it  is  not  necessary. 
Much  of  the  world's  greatest  poetry  has  no  rhyme.  The 
poetry  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans  had  none;  the  poetry  of 
the  Hebrews  had  none.  Much  English  poetry  has  none,  as, 
for  example,  "Evangeline"  and  ''The  Courtship  of  Miles 
Standish."  Modern  English  poetry,  however,  almost  invari- 
ably has  meter. 

Meter  is  practically  but  another  name  for  rhythm  in  poetry. 
We  use  the  word  "  rhythm  "  for  other  things  than  poetry;  we 
mean  by  it  a  regular  recurrence  of  sounds  and  intervals.  We 
might  speak  of  "the  rhythm  of  the  surf  upon  the  beach," 
meaning  the  regularly  recurring  sound  of  the  breakers.  In 
poetry  the  regular  recurrence  is  called  meter  or  rhythm,  the 
former  being  a  more  definite  word. 

In  English,  rhythm  is  the  regular  recurrence  of  accented 
syllables  among  unaccented  syllables.  In  prose  the  accent  of 
the  words  is  not  regular;  the  accents  in  a  sentence  come  at 
no  fixed  interval.  But  in  poetry  the  accents  come  at  intervals 
that  we  can  realize. 

"  On  the  mountains  of  the  Prairie,  on  the  great  Red  Pipe-stone 
Quarry,  Gitche  Manito  the  Mighty,  he  the  Master  of  Life  descending,  on 
the  red  crags  of  the  quarry,  stood  erect  and  called  the  nations,  called 
the  tribes  of  men  together." 

1  Adapted  by  permission  from  the  introduction  to  Evangeline,  pp.  16-19.  (9.  L.  Series, 
No.  21.) 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXIU 

In  these  lines  from  Longfellow's  '^  Hiawatha/'  the  fact  that 
they  are  printed  as  prose  will  not  conceal  the  fact  that  the 
accent  falls  regularly  on  every  other  syllable,  beginning  with 
the  first.  Sometimes  it  is  not  a  very  strong  accent,  as  in  the 
fourth  word,  of ;  but  even  on  of  there  is  more  accent  than 
on  the  syllables  -tains  and  the  just  before  and  after  it.  In 
*'  Master  of  Life  ''  there  are  two  syllables  between  the  accents, 
but  generally  the  recurrence  is  so  regular  that  we  become 
accustomed  to  it  and  hardly  notice  a  slight  variation.  It  is 
usual  in  writing  and  printing  poetry  to  divide  it  into  lines, 
commonly  with  an  equal  number  of  accents  in  each  line,  and 
the  disposition  of  the  accents  in  the  line  is  taken  as  the  basis 
for  the  meter. 

There  are  many  different  arrangements  of  rhythms,  differ- 
ing in  the  arrangement  of  the  accented  and  unaccented  sylla- 
bles. The  meter  of  '*  The  Courtship"  is  called  hexameter, 
because  there  are  six  accents  to  the  line.  In  the  hexameter, 
as  written  in  English,  we  have  a  recurrence  of  accented  sylla- 
bles, with  sometimes  one  unaccented  syllable  following,  some- 
times two.  It  is  also  the  rule  of  the  meter  that  the  line  shall 
begin  with  an  accented  syllable,  and  that  the  last  accent  but 
one  of  each  line  shall  be  followed  by  two  unaccented  syllables 
and  the  last  by  one  only.  If,  then,  we  represent  an  accented 
syllable  by  a,  an  unaccented  syllable  by  x,  we  may  write  the 
scheme  of  the  hexameter  line  as  follows: 

ax  or  axx,  ax  or  axx,  ax  or  axx,  ax  or  axx,  axx,  ax. 

To  show  how  the  meter  really  sounds,  let  us  take  the  first 
line  of  •'  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  ": 

"In  the  Old  Colony  days  in  Plymouth  the  land  of  the  Pilgrims." 

The  first  syllable  has  the  accent,  and  each  accented  syllable 
is  followed  by  one  or  two  unaccented  syllables.  The  first, 
second,  fourth,  and   fifth   feet  have  one  accented  and   two 


XXXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

unaccented  syllables;  and  the  third  and  sixth  feet  have  one 
accented  and  one  unaccented  syllable. 

"  To  and  fro  in  a  room  of  his  siini)le  and  primitive   dwelling." 

Here  the  first  and  sixth  have  one  unaccented  syllable  follow- 
ing the  accented  one. 

"  Clad  in  doublet  and  hose,  azid  boots  of  Cordovan  leather." 

In  this  line  only  the  second  and  fifth  feet  have  the  three  syl- 
lables, while  all  the  others  have  two.  If  we  write  the  first 
three  lines  with  a  and  x,  as  above,  we  shall  scan  them  thus: 


axx 

.  axx 

ax 

axx 

axx 

ax 

ax 

axx 

axx 

axx 

axx 

ax 

ax 

axx 

ax 

ax 

axx 

ax 

Let  us  read  a  number  of  lines,  noting  the  accent.  We  find 
that  it  falls  on  the  syllables  that  would  be  accented  in  prose, 
but  that  the  words  are  so  arranged  as  to  have  this  regular 
recurrence,  which  gives  the  language  a  special  character. 

In  scanning  and  reading  the  hexameter  the  following  points 
should  be  noticed : 

1.  There  is  almost  always  about  the  middle  of  a  line  a  short 
pause,  which  gives  a  pleasant  effect;  it  is  called  a  cmsura. 
The  line  is  long;  this  divides  it.  But  the  variation  in  plac- 
ing the  pause  does  away  with  monotony. 

2.  One  must  not  mark  the  ends  of  the  lines  strongly  unless 
there  is  a  punctuation  mark. 

"  Brown  as  a  nut  was  his  face,  but  his  russet  beard  was  already 
Flaked  with  patches  of  snow,  as  hedges  sometimes  in  November," 

I.,  18,  14. 

Here,  as  often,  the  reader  should  run  right  on  from  one  line 
to  another  without  pause. 

3.  The  line  usually  ends  axx  ax,  and  any  variation  occurs 
in  the  first  four  feet.     Bat  II.  4,  and  III.  61,  end  ax,  ax — 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXV 

"After  a  while  he  exclaimed,  as  he  smote  with  his  hand,  palm  down- 
wards." 
"  Let  not  him  that  putteth  his  hand  to  the  plough  look  backwards." 

Both  of  these  lines  move  smoothly  up  to  the  caBsural  pause, 
.then  descend  abruptly,  almost  harshly.  This  is  caused  by  the 
fifth  foot  having  only  one  unaccented  syllable. 

4.  Other  lines  show  special  but  appropriate  efEects,  e.g.: 

'^Sudden  and  loud  as  the  sound  oi  a  soZ^i'er  grounding  his  musket," 
IT.  38  (alliteration). 

"And  at  the  end  of  the  street,  the  village  church,"  etc.,  Ill,,  90 
(light,  unaccented  beginning). 

"  Me,  Miles  Standish,  your  friend!  have  supplanted,  defrauded,  he- 
frayed  me,"  IV.  76  (harsh  but  emphatic). 

"  Up  leaped  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  and  stamped  on  the  floor,"  lY. 
71  (abrupt). 

"Sunless  and  silent  and  deep,  like  subterranean  rivers,"  YI.  33 
(gliding). 

"Strange  is  the  heart  of  iii;m,"  etc.,  Y.  89,  90  (repetition  and  em- 
phasis). 

When  one  has  become  accustomed  to  the  movement  of  the 
hexameter,  it  is  not  at  all  difhcult  to  scan  except  in  a  few 
cases.  The  meter,  however,  has  some  inconveniences,  the 
most  important  of  which  arise  from  the  fact  that  the  line 
must  begin  with  an  accent.  Now  an  English  sentence  some- 
times begins  with  an  accent,  but  rather  more  often  it  does 
not.  One  will  easily  notice,  by  reading  a  good  number  of 
sentences,  that  less  than  half  begin  with  an  accented  syllable. 
Hence  the  poet  will  often  find  a  difficulty  in  beginning  the 
line  with  a  sentence,  and  yet  he  may  often  wish  to  do  so. 
Longfellow  gets  around  the  difficulty  in  three  ways,  none 
good  in  their  effect. 

1.  He  puts  an  unnatural  accent  on  the  first  word. 

"While  underneath,  in  a  corner,  were  fowling-piece,  musket,  and 
matchlock,"  I.  10. 


XXX  vi  INTRODUCTION. 

3.  He  inverts  the  usual  word-order. 

"  Brown  as  a  nut  was  his  face,"  I.  13. 
"  Strange  is  the  life  of  man,"  V.  89. 
"  Silent  and  moody  he  went,"  VII.  6. 

Inversion  is  often  met  with  in  poetry,  and  is  not  displeasing. 
It  should  occur  but  seldom,  and  then  to  give  emphasis.  But 
when  often  used  it  ceases  to  be  emphatic;  for  we  become 
accustomed  to  it,  and  it  becomes  a  conventionality. 

3.  He  begins  a  sentence  or  a  clause  in  the  middle  of  the 
line,  and  lets  it  run  over  into  the  next.  In  itself  there  is  no 
harm  in  this  practice,  but  it  tends  to  diffuseness.  That  is  to 
say,  the  habit  of  running  the  sentence  over  the  line  to  the 
next,  tends  to  accustom  one  to  ending  a  sentence  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  line.  It  is  then  necessary  to  begin  a  new  sentence, 
and  this  usually  runs  over  into  the  next  line,  and  so  the 
temptation  is  to  run  on  and  on,  and  spin  the  story  out. 

These,  however,  are  but  slight  drawbacks  and  will  not 
greatly  bar  one's  enjoyment  of  the  poem. 

§  8.   Chronological  Outline  of  the  Life  of  Longfellow. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  w^as  the  second  son  of  Judge 
Stephen  Longfellow,  a  Federalist  and  Congressman  (1822-24), 
and  Miss  Zilpah  Wadsworth,  a  daughter  of  General  Peleg 
Wadsworth,  adjutant-general  of  Massachusetts  during  the 
Revolutionary  War,  and  a  descendant  of  John  Alden  and 
Priscilla  Mullens,  two  Pilgrims  who  came  over  in  the  "May- 
flower" in  1620. 

1807.  February  27.     Born  at  Portland,  Maine. 

1813.  Entered  Portland  Academy.     Fond  of  Irving. 

1820.  Published  first  verses  in  "  Portland  Gazette.'' 

1821.  Entered  Bowdoin  College.     A  fine  student  and  beloved 

by  classmates.     Showed  strong  literary  bent. 
1824-25.     Contributed  "Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns"  and 
other  pieces  to  the  "  United  States  Literary  Gazette  " 
of  Boston. 


INTEODUCTION.  XXXVil 

1825.  Graduated  fourth  in  a  class  of  thirty-eight,  including 
Hawthorne.  Aspired  after  literary  fame.  Read 
law  in  his  father's  office. 

1826-29.  Elected  Professor  of  Modern  Languages  in  Bow- 
doin.  Went  to  Europe  to  fit  himself  for  the  chair. 
Visited  France,  Spain,  Italy,  Germany,  and  Eng- 
land, and  studied  languages,  customs,  etc. 

1828-33.  Taught  in  Bowdoin  with  graceful  dignity,  inspir- 
ing his  students  with  affection. 

1833-34.  Published,  in  the  ''North  American  Review,^' 
''Outre  Mer,"  a  prose  record  of  his  European 
travels.  Wrote  linguistic  and  grammatical  works, 
1830-32.     Translated  Manrique's  "'  Coplas.^' 

1831.  Married  Miss  Mary  Storer  Potter,  of  Portland,  a  lovely 

and  highly  educated  Avoman. 

1832.  Read  poem  on  education,   "  The  Past  and  the  Pres- 

ent," before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  at  Bow- 
doin Commencement. 

1833.  Repeated  the  same  by  request  at  Harvard. 

1835.  Elected  Professor  of  Modern  Languages  and  Litera- 

tures in  Harvard  College  to  succeed  George  Ticknor. 
Went  to  Europe  to  study  the  languages  of  Holland, 
Germany,  and  Sweden.  November :  Mrs.  Long- 
fellow died  in  Rotterdam  :  the  poet's  first  great 
sorrow,  commemorated  in  "Footsteps  of  Angels." 

1836.  December.     Returned  to  Cambridge,  with  quarters  in 

the  old  Craigie  House,  built  1756.  Taught  with 
great  success  in  Harvard. 
1839.  Published  ''Hyperion,  a  Romance,"  a  prose  diary  of 
his  German  travels,  introducing  German  legends, 
lyrics,  and  life  to  Americans.  Published  "Voices 
of  the  Night,"  containing  "The  Psalm  of  Life," 
"  The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers,"  etc. 

1841.  Published  "Ballads  and  Other  Poems,"  which  con- 

tained such  favorites  as  "  The  Skeleton  in  Armor," 
"  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,"  "  Excelsior,"  "  The 
Village  Blacksmith,"  etc. 

1842.  Went   to    Europe,   and   studied   mediaeval   literature. 

Published  "  Poems  on  Slavery.'' 

1843.  Married  Miss  Frances  Elizabeth  Appleton,  a  beautiful 

and  accomplished  lady  of  Boston,  whom  he  had  met 
in  Europe  in  1835.     She  was  the  original  of  Mary 


L^ 


XXXVlll  INTRODUCTION. 

Ashbnrton  in  "Hyperion."  They  had  five  chil- 
dren. Published  "  The  Spanish  Student/^  a  drama 
to  be  read. 

1845.  Edited  an  antholog'y  of  "The  Poets  and  Poetry  of 
Europe,"  containing  400  verse  translations  from  ten 
languages.  He  was  assisted  by  Prof.  C.  C.  Felton. 
Birth  of  his  son  Ernest,  who  became  a  distinguished 
artist.  Published  "The  Waif."  December:  Pub- 
lished "  The  Belfry  of  Bruges,  and  Other  Poems," 
containing  "Nuremberg,"  "The  Day  is  Done," 
"  The  Arsenal  at  Springfield,"  "  The  bid  Clock  on 
the  Stairs,"  etc.,  some  of  his  best  work. 

1847.  Published  "  Ey ajigfilin%^"  a  long  poem  of  Acadia  in 
'^^^  hexameters,  which  Holmes   considered  his  master- 

piece. Published  "  The  Estray."  Attacked  by  Poe 
for  plagiarism,  and  satirized  by  the  "Dial"  as 
"a  dandy  Pindar."  A  period  of  literary  dearth, 
1848-49. 

1849.  Published  "  Kavanagh,"  an  unsuccessful  prose  tale, 

praised  by  Hawthorne. 

1850.  Published    "Seaside   and    Pireside,"   which   includes 

"The  Building  of  the  Ship'';  "Resignation,"  in 
memory  of  his  daughter  Fanny.  His  poems  yield 
a  comfortable  income. 

1851.  Published  "The  Golden  Legend,"  a  story  from  the 

Minnesinger  Hartmann  von  der  Ane,  giving  a  vivid 
picture  of  Christianity  in  the  thirteenth  century. 
It  was  the  first  part  of  the  trilogy  "  Christus." 

1854.  Resigned  his  chair  in  Harvard  College  to  devote  him- 

self exclusively  to  literature.  Author  was  at  his 
intellectual  prime. 

1855.  Published  "The  Song  of  Hiawatha,"  an  epic  poem 

treating  the  old  Indian  legends:    a  great  literary 

sensation. 
1858.     Published  "  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish,"  "  The 

Ladder  of  St.    Augustine,"    "The   Two  Angels," 

"Children,"  etc. 
1861.     Death  of  his  wife,  whose  clothes  caught  fire  from  a 

candle.     Begins  to  translate  the  great  Italian  poet 

Dante. 
1863.     Published  "  Tales  of  a  AVayside  Inn,"  Part  I.;  in  1872 

Part  II.,  and  in  1873  Part  III.    A  collection  of  stories 


INTRODUCTION.  XXxix 

^  borrowed  from   mediaeval,  Talmiidic,   and  modern 

sources;  includes  the  famous '' Paul  Re vere's  Eide," 
''The  Falcon  of  Ser  Federigo/"'  ''King  Robert  of 
Sicily/'  "Torquemado,"  etc. 

1867.  Published    "  Flower-de-Luce."      Translated    Dante's 

''Divine  Comedy"  1867-70. 

1868.  Published  ''  The  Xew  England  Tragedies,"  a  depress- 

ing poetical  record  of  deeds  of  cruelty,  delusion,  and 
intolerance;  Part  II.  of  "  Christus." 
1868-69.     Last   trip   to   Europe,    covered  with   honors   and 
attentions;   received  LL.D.   from  Cambridge,   and 
D.C.L.  from  Oxford;  met  Queen  Victoria. 

1871.  Published    "The    Divine    Tragedv,''    Part    III.    of 

"Christus." 

1872.  Edited  ''  Poems  of  Places,''  in  thirtv-one  volumes. 

1874.  Published  "Aftermath." 

1875.  Published  "  Morituri  Salutamus,"  on  fiftieth  anniver- 

sary of  his  class  at  Bowdoin;  "  The  Hanging  of  the 
Crane,"  "The  Masque  of  Pandora." 
1878.     Published  "Keramos,"  a  poem  iu  the  style  of  Schil- 
ler's "The  Bell." 

1880.  Published  "  Ultima  Thule." 

1881.  Published  "  In  the  Harbor." 

1882.  March  24:  Died  at  Cambridge  of   peritonitis;  buried 

in  Mt.  Auburn  Cemetery;  a  statue  has  been  since 
erected  to  him  in  Portland,  and  a  bust  of  him  in 
Poet's  Corner  in  Westminster  Abbey  (1884).  He 
left  two  sons  and  two  daughters. 

1884.     "Michael  Angelo,"  a  posthumous  volume,  published. 

1886-90.  Publication  of  complete  edition  of  his  poems  in 
eleven  volumes.  Publication  of  Longfellow's  "  Life 
and  Journals,"  edited  by  his  brother  Samuel. 

1887.  "'  Final  Memorials,"  published  by  his  brother;  also 
"A  Biographical  Sketch,"  by  F.  H.  Underwood  of 
Boston. 

§  9.  Longfellow's  Poetry--  Various  Critical  Opinions  of  his 

Mind  and  Art. 

AX    AMERICAN    POET. 

As  one  meditates  upon  the  full  exercise  of  his  poetic  gift, 
one  is  likely  to  feel  that  this  beloved  singer's  just  claim  upon 


xl  INTRODUCTION. 

the  affectionate  memory  of  after  time  is  due  to  his  felicitous 
handling  of  subjects,  humorous  or  tragic,  which  get  their 
rootage  in  American  soil.  Despite  much  culture  and  a  cos- 
mopolitan range  of  themes,  Longfellow  stands  forth  as  a  rep- 
resentative poet  of  our  earlier  period,  because  he  drew  the 
inspiration  for  his  best  work  from  motives  lying  ready  to  hand 
in  his  own  country.  Neither  Whittier  nor  Holmes,  neither 
Emerson  nor  Lowell,  are  more  American  in  this  sense.  .  .  . 
The  delightful  narrative  poem  of  ''The  Courtship  of  Miles 
Standish  "  is  one  of  those  typical  creations  we  have  in  mind. 
It  is  a  rendering  j^layful,  yet  tender,  realistic  in  setting,  yet 
touched  with  romance,  of  a  story  from  our  early  colonial  history, 
in  which  characters,  who  are  in  danger  of  being  names  and 
nothing  more  in  the  hands  of  the  formal  chronicler,  are 
brought  near  to  us  and  made  warm  and  sympathetic  by  means 
of  imaginative  presentation. — Eichakd  Burton. 

AN    APOSTLE    OF   THE    BEAUTIFUL. 

We  shall  think  rightly  of  Longfellow's  poetry  if  we  remem- 
ber what  it  was  to  the  American  people  of  his  time.  Long- 
fellow served  to  awaken  and  kindle  the  taste  and  feeling  of 
the  American  people  for  what  was  j^oetic  and  beautiful.  Not 
that  no  one  in  America  had  enjoyed  poetry  and  beauty  before 
Longfellow — far  from  that.  But  no  one  had  expressed  it  in 
America  as  he  expressed  it;  we  had  no  great  poets  before 
Longfellow.  Indeed,  as  a  people,  we  had  very  little  poetic 
appreciation.  Longfellow  was  a  sort  of  Apostle.  He  showed 
us  much.  He  was  a  Discoverer  in  our  behalf;  a  Discoverer, 
as  I  have  said,  of  the  Beautiful  in  life.  So  he  was  a  great 
educator;  he  attuned  the  mind  of  our  people  to  the  beautiful 
and  the  ideal. 

Something  of  the  same  sort  is  Longfellow  apt  to  be  to  every 
one  of  us.  We  all  read  Longfellow  early  in  life,  often  in 
school,  before  we  have  read  much  else,  before  we  have  seen 
much  of  this  world  that  the  poets  write  of.  It  is  an  impres- 
sionable age.  Longfellow  moulds  our  taste.  He  delights  us, 
and  it  is  from  him  that  we  learn  a  kind  of  delight  different 
from  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  life.  He  is  simple  and  direct. 
AVe  read  his  beautiful  verse  without  difficulty;  it  seems  nat- 
ural, and  we  become  habituated  to  poetic  thought  and  to 
poetic  form.     Later  in  life,  if  we  desire,  we  may  pass  from 


INTKODUCTION.  xli 

his  exquisite  and  gracious  mood  to  poets  of  a  more  profound 
or  a  more  passionate  nature.  But  Longfellow  never  loses  his 
place  with  us.  He  is  the  guide  who  first  led  us  to  the  en- 
chanted country,  the  interpreter  who  first  made  us  under- 
stand its  language. — Edward  E.  Hale,  Jr. 

THE    METER. 

The  poet's  friends  told  him  he  must  take  a  familiar  meter, 
that  hexameters  "would  never  do.*'  He  found,  as  reported 
by  David  Machrae,  that  his  ''thoughts  would  run  in  hexam- 
eters'' and  declared  that  the  measure  would  '^take  root  in 
English  soil."  "  It  is  a  measure,'"  he  said,  'Hhat  suits  all 
Ihemes.  It  can  fly  low  like  a  swallow,  and  at  any  moment 
dart  skyward.  What  fine  hexameters  we  have  in  the  Bible  : 
'  Husbands,  love  your  wives,  and  be  not  bitter  against  them  ; ' 
and  this  line,  '  God  is  gone  up  with  a  shout,  the  Lord  with 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet.'  Nothing  could  be  grander  than 
that!" 

Over-dactylic,  and  therefore  monotonous,  as  Longfellow's 
hexameters  often  are,  they  have  the  merit  of  being  smooth  to 
read,  without  analysis,  like  any  other  .English  verse.  This 
primary  easy  lilt  was  needed  for  an  introduction,  until,  stage 
by  stage,  the  popular  ear  should  be  wonted  to  more  varied 
forms. 

"The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish"  was  an  advance  upon 
"  Evangeline,"  so  far  as  concerns  structure  and  the  distinct 
characterization  of  personages.  A  merit  of  the  tale  is  the 
frolicsome  humor  here  and  there,  lighting  up  the  gloom  that 
blends  with  our  conception  of  the  Pilgrim  inclosure,  and  we 
see  that  comic  and  poetic  elements  are  not  at  odds  in  the 
scheme  of  a  bright  imagination.  The  verse,  though  stronger, 
is  more  labored  than  that  of  •''Evangeline";  some  of  the 
lines  are  prosaic,  almost  inadmissible. — Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman. 

a  literary  prediction. 

We  hope  that  Mr.  Longfellow  may  live  a  great  many  years 
yet,  and  give  us  a  great  many  more  books.  We  shall  not 
undertake  to  pass  a  sentence  which  he  may  compel  us  to 
revise.  We  shall  only  say  that  he  is  the  most  popular  of 
American    poets,   and    that   this    popularity   may  safely   be 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

assumed  to  contain  in  itself  the  elements  of  permanence,  since 
it  has  been  fairly  earned,  without  any  of  that  subservience  to 
the  baser  tastes  of  the  public  which  characterizes  the  quack  of 
letters.  His  are  laurels  honorably  gained  and  gently  worn. 
Without  comparing  him  with  others,  it  is  enough  if  we  de- 
clare our  convictioQ  that  he  has  composed  poems  which  will 
live  as  long  as  the  language  in  which  they  are  written. — 
James  Russell  Lowell  (1849). 


OPINION    OF   AN   ENGLISH   NOVELIST. 

The  story  of  Miles  Standish  and  of  John  Aid  en  is  as  old  as 
the  hills,  but  it  never  was  told  with  a  clearer  or  more  deliber- 
ate purpose,  nor  in  the  telling  of  it  were  the  feelings  of  the 
three  persons  concerned  made  more  conspicuous.  ...  I 
do  not  intend  to  say  that  the  story  as  told  by  Longfellow  is 
deficient  in  pathos.  No  such  story  could  be  told  by  him  so  as 
to  want  it  altogether.  But  the  whole  tale  of  John  Alden — 
for  he  is  the  hero,  and  not  Miles  Staudish — is  narrated  in  the 
language  of  ordinary  life,  for  which  the  Latin  hexameters  are 
hardly  fitted.  The  history  is  given  with  great  rapidity,  and 
yet  seems  to  include  all  that  there  is  to  be  said.  Indeed,  the 
story  as  a  story  is  admirably  complete.  '^  Evangeline  "  is  not 
complete.  It  is  vague  and  wandering,  and  given  only  in 
parts,  whereas  "  Miles  Standish  "  is  round  and  finished  from 
beginning  to  end. — Anthony  Trollope. 

ITS    STRONG    INDIVIDUALITY. 

The  poet  keeps  throughout  the  grace  and  subtle  power  of 
the  poet;  he  keeps  all  that  was  ever  his  own,  even  to  the  love 
of  profuse  simile,  and  the  quaint  doubt  of  his  reader  implied 
by  the  elaborated  meaning;  and  he  loses  only  the  tints  and 
flavors  not  thoroughly  assimilated  or  not  native  in  him. 
Throughout  is  the  same  habit  of  recondite  and  scholarly  allu- 
sion, the  same  quick  sympathy  with  the  beautiful  in  simple 
and  commou  things,  the  same  universality,  the  same  tender- 
ness for  country  and  for  home.  Over  all  presides  individual- 
ity superior  to  accidents  of  resemblance,  and  distinguishing 
each  poem  with  traits  unmistakably  and  only  the  author's; 
and  the  equality  in  the  long  procession  of  his  beautiful 
thoughts  never  wearies,  but  is  like  that  of  some  fine  bas-relief, 


INTRODUCTION.  xllii 

in  which  the  varying  allegory  reveals  one  manner  and  many 
inspirations. — William  Dean  Howells. 

TOPICS    FOR    STUDY   AND    REVIEW    QUESTIONS. 

I.  Sources. — 1.  Where  did  Longfellow  get  the  characters 
of  his  story?  2.  Determine  the  place  and  time  of  the  action. 
3.  What  connection  does  the  story  have  with  the  poet's  family  i 
history  ?  4.  Does  the  poem  depict  the  painful  or  the  pleasant 
side  of  colonial  life?  5.  How  are  two  events,  the  sailing  of 
the  "Mayflower/'  in  1621,  and  the  raid  against  the  Indians, 
in  1623,  connected  ?  6.  How  many  actual  events  does  Long- 
fellow nse  ? 

II.  Plot. — 1.  Show  construction  of  the  plot  by  table  of 
events  or  by  inverted  A?  the  angle  representing  the  climax 
and  the  two  arms  the  complication  and  resolution.  2.  Indi- 
cate each  crisis  in  the  poem.  3.  Where  has  the  author  re- 
arranged incidents  to  suit  his  plot  ?  4.  Write  a  paragraph 
narrating  the  story  told  in  Part  III.  or  lY.  5.  Show  how 
Part  Y.  contains  the  climax  and  pivot  of  the  story.  6.  Where 
in  Part  I.  is  preparation  made  for  Part  Y.  ?  7.  Whom  do  you 
think  the  hero  of  the  poem  ?  Why  ?  8.  How  is  the  report  of 
Standish's  death  received  by  the  lovers?  9.  Xote  the  number 
of  surprises  in  the  latter  half  of  the  poem.  10.  How  much 
time  elapses  between  Parts  I.  and  Y. ;  between  Parts  YII.  and 
IX.?  11.  Give  three  reasons  for  Standish's  going  away  from 
Plymouth  in  Part  YII.  12.  How^  are  Ave  informed  of  events 
that  happened  before  the  opening  scene  in  Part  I.  ?  13.  Find 
five  passages  descriptive  of  natural  scenery;  show  color  and 
landscape  effects  of  each;  and  point  out  connection  between 
scenes  and  episodes.  14.  Did  Alden  deliver  his  message  to 
Priscilla  as  Standish  expected  ? 

III.  Character  Drawing. — 1.  Study  the  characterization 
of  Priscilla  by  the  description  of  her,  by  her  previous  conduct, 
by  what  she  says  to  Alden,  by  what  she  does.  2.  Why  does 
she  love  Alden  rather  than  Standish  ?    3.  In  social  rank  and 


xliv  INTRODUCTION. 

property  which  was  more  her  equal  ?  4.  Study  the  conflict 
betweeu  love  and  friendship  in  the  mind  of  Alden.  5.  Write 
a  paragraph  on  Standish's  changes  of  feeling  toward  Alden. 
6.  What  do  you  consider  the  chief  motive  or  moral  of  the 
poem  ?  7.  What  other  lessons  are  taught  ?  8.  AV'hat  does  the 
poet,  in  the  person  of  Priscilla,  show  to  be  the  special  office, 
duty,  and  influence  of  woman  in  her  relation  to  man  ?  9.  How 
many  traits  has  Priscilla  peculiar  to  herself,  i.e.,  individual, 
and  how  many  that  are  typical  of  all  women  and  universal? 
10.  Are  the  three  chief  persons  fixed  types,  or  do  they  change, 
or  grow?  11.  Compare  differences  of  occupation,  dress,  cus- 
tom, and  manners  in  the  seventeenth  century  from  the  nine- 
teenth. 12.  Which  scenes  do  you  think  the  most  humorous, 
the  most  touching,  the  most  interesting,  the  most  beautiful  ? 
13.  Compare  the  rival  lovers,  in  intellect,  heart,  feeling, 
energy,  sensitiveness,  courage,  refinement,  generosity,  un- 
selfishness. 14.  At  which  crisis  does  Priscilla  help  Alden? 
15.  Study  the  characters  of  the  Indians  in  Part  VII. 

IV.  Miscellaneous. — 1.  Look  up  the  meaning  of  such 
words  as  matchlock,  douUet,  ivampum,  azure-eyed,  gules, 
thwarts,  inkhorn,  sagamore,  ominous,  homespun,  subterra- 
nean, etc.  2.  Eead  the  quotations  from  the  Bible.  3.  Find 
other  examples  of  the  various  figures  of  speech  than  those 
given  in  the  introduction.  4.  Scan  any  ten  lines  of  the  poem. 
5.  Commit  to  memory  any  dozen  lines  that  you  care  for. 
(Other  questions  will  suggest  themselves  to  the  teacher  ad 
libitum.) 

G.  A.  W. 


THE     COURTSHIP     OF     MILES 
STANDISH. 


I. 

MILES   STAKDISH. 

In  the  Old  Colony  ^  days,  in  Plymouth "  the  land  of  the  Pil- 
grims/ 
To  and  fro  in  a  room  of  his  simple  and  primitive  dwelling,* 
Clad  in  doublet  and  hose/  and  boots  of  Cordovan^  leather. 
Strode,  with  a  martial  air.  Miles  Standish  the  Puritan  Cap- 
tain. 
Buried,  in  thought  he  seemed,  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
and  pausing  5 

Ever  and  anon  to  behold  his  glittering  weapons  of  warfare. 
Hanging  in  shining  array  along  the  walls  of  the  chamber, — 

1  Old  Colony  was  the  territory  in  eastern  Massachusetts  occupied  by  the  Plymouth 
colonists. 

2  This  town,  the  oldest  in  New  England,  is  situated  on  the  harbor  of  the  same  name 
on  the  coast  of  Massachusetts  about  thirty-five  miles  southeast  of  Boston. 

3  The  Pilgrims,  or  Forefathers,  were  those  emigrants  who  came  to  America  early  in 
the  seventeenth  century  on  account  of  religious  differences  in  England,  and  founded  the 
Old  Colony.  The  "  Mayflower"  arrived  first  with  one  hundred  persons  on  board,  includ- 
ing John  Alden,  Priscilla,  and  Miles  Standish,  who  disembarked  December  21,  1620. 
The  "  Fortune  "  came  next,  in  November,  1621,  with  twenty-nine  passengers ;  and  the 
"  Anne  "  and  the  "  Little  James  "  brought  forty-six  more  in  August,  1623. 

*  The  colonists  built  their  first  houses  of  rough-hewn  logs  filled  in  with  mortar  ;  the 
roofs  were  thatched,  and  oiled  paper  was  used  instead  of  glass. 

*  From  the  fifteenth  to  the  seventeenth  century  the  costume  for  men  included  hose  or 
breeches,  reaching  to  the  knees,  and  a  doublet,  which  was  a  close-fitting  garment,  double 
or  wadded,  covering  the  body  from  neck  to  a  little  below  the  waist. 

*  Cordova,  a  city  and  province  in  southwestern  Spain,  gave  its  name  to  a  fine  quality 
of  leather  manufactured  from  goat-skin  by  the  Moors.  Cordwainer,  au  English  name  for 
shoemaker,  is  derived  from  Cordovan. 


2  THE   COURTSHIP   OF 

Cutlass '  and  corselet'  of  steel,  and  his  trusty  sword  of  Damas- 
cus/ 

Curved  at  the  point  and  inscribed  with  its  mystical  Arabic 
sentence. 

While  underneath,  in  a  corner,  were  fowling-piece,*  musket, 
and  matchlock.'  10 

Short  of  stature  he  was,  but  strongly  built  and  athletic. 

Broad  in  the  shoulders,  deep-chested,  with  muscles  and  sinews 
of  iron; 

Brown  as  a  nut  was  his  face,  but  his  russet  beard  was  already 

Flaked  with  patches  of  snow,  as  hedges  sometimes  in  Novem- 
ber." 

Near  him  was  seated  John  Alden,'  his  friend  and  household 
companion,  15 

Writing  with  diligent  speed  at  a  table  of  pine  by  the  window; 

Fair-haired,  azure-eyed,  with  delicate  Saxon  complexion, 

1  A  short,  curved  sword  used  by  sailors. 

'  A  coat-of-mail,  or  piece  of  armor,  consisting  of  breastplate  and  backpiece,  worn  by 
pike-men  to  protect  the  body. 

3  Formerly  the  capital  of  Syria  in  Asiatic  Turkey,  and  one  of  the  oldest  cities  in  the 
world.  It  was  renowned  for  its  sword-blades,  which  were  made  of  such  finely  tempered 
steel  that  the  point  could  be  made  to  touch  the  hilt  without  breaking.  They  were  often 
engraved  with  phrases  from  the  Koran.  The  Pilgrim  Society  of  Plymouth  and  the  Mas- 
sachusetts Historical  Society  both  exhibit  the  alleged  "  identical  sword-blade  used  by 
Miles  Standish  "  ! 

*  A  light  gun  for  shooting  water-fowl  or  other  birds. 

6  A  form  of  musket  invented  about  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  .century.  It  was  fired  by 
bringing  a  slow  match  of  twisted  rope  fixed  in  a  crooked  iron  lever  into  contact  with  the 
povvderpan,  the  lid  of  which  was  thrown  forward  by  the  hand.  It  was  a  verj'  uncertain 
weapon  in  time  of  wind  or  rain,  and  was  replaced  by  the  flintlock  about  1650. 

*  Miles  Standish  (1584-1656)  was  born  in  England  ;  fought  in  the  Netherlands  in  their 
heroic  struggle  against  the  King  of  Spain,  emigrated  to  New  England  in  1620  ;  took  a 
leading  part  in  the  wars  witli  the  Indians  ;  visited  England  for  supplies  (1625-1626) ;  was 
magistrate  of  Duxbury,  and  aided  in  the  settlement  of  Bridgewater.  He  is  mentioned  in 
Bradford's  and  Winslow's  Journal^  which  was  printed  in  Young's  Chronicles  of  the  Pil- 
grims.   Little  else  is  known  with  certainty  of  his  history. 

'  John  Alden  (1599-1687)  was  born  in  England,  emigrated  to  New  England  in  1620 ; 
married  Priscilla  Mullens  ;  was  a  magistrate  for  over  fifty  years,  and  was  active  in  the 
management  of  the  new  colony.  He  was  one  of  the  signers  of  the  compact  in  the  caliin 
of  the  "  Mayflower." 


MILES  STANDISH.  3 

Having  the  dew  of  his  youth,  and  the  beauty  thereof,  as  the 
captives 

Whom  Saint  Gregory'  saw,  and  exclaimed,  "Not  Angles  but 
Angels." 

Youngest  of  all  was  he  of  the  men  who  came  in  the  "  May- 
flower.'" 20 

Suddenly  breaking  the  silence,  the  diligent  scribe  inter- 
rupting. 

Spake,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  Miles  Standish  the  Captain 
of  Plymouth. 

"Look  at  these  arms,"  he  said,  "the  warlike  weapons  that 
hang  here 

Burnished  and  bright  and  clean,  as  if  for  parade  or  inspection! 

This  is  the  sword  of  Damascus  I  fought  with  in  Flanders;' 
this  breastplate,  25 

Well  I  remember  the  day!  once  saved  my  life  in  a  skirmish; 

Here  in  front  you  can  see  the  very  dint  of  the  bullet 

Fired  point-blank  at  my  heart  by  a  Spanish  arcabucero." 

1  St.  Gregory  tlie  Great  (540  ?-604),  Pope,  and  author  of  a  book,  Cura  Pastoralis, 
which  was  translated  by  King  Alfred  the  Great.  The  story  of  Gregory  and  the  English 
slaves  is  thus  told  by  Greene  :  Years  ago,  when  but  a  young  deacon,  Gregory  had  noted 
the  white  bodies,  the  fair  faces,  the  golden  hair  of  some  youths  who  stood  bound  in  the 
market-place  of  Rome.  "From  what  country  do  these  slaves  come?"  he  asked  the 
traders  who  brought  them.  "  They  are  English,  Angles  !  "  the  slave-dealers  answered. 
The  deacon's  pity  veiled  itself  in  poetic  humor.  "Not  Angles,  but  Angels,"  he  said, 
"  with  faces  so  angel-like  !  '"—History  of  the  English  People,  p.  54.  Gregory  wished  to 
go  as  a  missionary  to  Britain,  but  was  restrained  by  the  Pope.  Seven  years  after  his  elec- 
tion as  Pope  (597)  he  sent  St.  Augustine  with  forty  monks  to  Ethelbert,  King  of  Kent, 
who  was  baptized  with  10,000  of  his  subjects  in  the  space  of  a  year. 

2  The  ship  which  conveyed  the  Pilgrims  from  Southampton  to  Plymouth  in  1620.  It 
was  a  vessel  of  about  180  tons  burden,  and  was  named  from  the  mayflower,  which  is  the 
English  hawthorn.    In  America  the  mayflower  is  the  trailing  arbutus. 

3  Flanders,  also  called  the  Low  Countries,  or  Netherlands,  an  ancient  country  of 
Europe  extending  along  the  North  Sea  from  the  Strait  of  Dover  to  the  mouth  of  the 
Schelde,  and  including  Belgium  and  parts  of  Holland  and  France.  Its  territory  has  varied 
much  in  extent. 

4  A  soldier  armed  with  an  arquebus,  or  ancient  hand  gun  ;  also  used  loosely  of  a  mus- 
keteer. 


4  THE   COURTSHIP  OF 

Had  it  not  been  of  sheer  steel,  the  forgotten  bones  of  Miles 

Standish 
Would  at  this  moment  be  mould,  in  their  grave  in  the  Flem- 
ish morasses."  30 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  but  looked  not  up  from  his 

writing: 
"Truly  the  breath  of  the  Lord  hath  slackened  the  speed  of 

the  bullet; 
He  in  his  mercy  preserved  you,   to  be  our  shield  and  our 

weapon!  "  ^ 
Still   the   CajDtain   continued,  unheeding   the  words  of   the 

stripling: 
"  See,  how  bright  they  are  burnished,   as  if  in  an  arsenal 

hanging;  35 

That  is  because  I  have  done  it  myself,  and  not  left  it  to  others. 
Serve  yourself,   would  you  be   well   served,  is   an   excellent 

adage; 
So  I  take  care  of  my  arms,  as  you  of  your  pens  and  your  ink- 
horn.'^ 
Then,  too,  there  are  my  soldiers,  my  great,  invincible  army. 
Twelve   men,  all   equipped,  having   each  his  rest^  and  his 

matchlock,  40 

Eighteen  shillings  *  a  month,  together  with  diet  and  pillage. 
And,  like  Caesar,"  I  know  the  name  of  each  of  my  soldiers!  " 

1  The  Bible  was  the  one  great  book  of  the  Puritans,  and  its  phraseology  became  uncon- 
sciously a  part  of  their  thoughts  and  speech.  Cf.  the  language  of  Alden  with  Psalms, 
xxxiii.  6,  20. 

2  In  the  seventeenth  century  pens  were  commonly  made  of  quills  and  ink-bottles  of 
liorn. 

^  The  support  upon  which  the  heavy  matchlock  was  rested  while  being  fired. 

*  About  four  dollars  and  a  half  ;  but  money  was  worth  from  three  to  five  times  as 
mnch  at  that  time. 

5  Cains  Julius  Caesar,  born  100  B.C.,  killed  at  Rome  by  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  other  con- 
s))irator8,  44  B.C.  He  was  not  only  the  first  general  and  statesman  of  his  age,  but  also, 
with  the  exception  of  Cicero,  the  greatest  orator.  He  was  also  an  accomplished  mathe- 
matician, philologist,  jurist,  and  architect,  and  the  author  of  the  famous  Commentaries 
on  the  Gallic  and  Civil  Wars^  mentioned  in  1.  70. 


MILES   STANDISH.  5 

This  he  said  with  a  smile,  that  danced  in  his  eyes,  as  the  sun- 
beams 

Dance  on  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  vanish  again  in  a  moment. 

Alden  laughed  as  he  wrote,  and  still  the  Captain  continued :  45 

"Look!  you  can  see  from  this  window  my  brazen  howitzer^ 
planted 

High  on  the  roof  of  the  church,  a  preacher  who  speaks  to  the 
purpose. 

Steady,  straightforward,  and  strong,  with  irresistible  logic. 

Orthodox,  flashing  conviction  right  into  the  hearts  of  the 
heathen. 

Now  we  are  ready,  I  think,  for  any  assault  of  the  Indians :  50 

Let  them  come,  if  they  like,  and  the  sooner  they  try  it  the 
better, — 

Let  them  come  if  they  like,  be  it  sagamore,  sachem,  or  pow- 
wow,^ 

Aspinet,  Samoset,  Corbitant,  Squanto,  or  Tokamahamon!  ^' ^ 

Long  at  the  window  he  stood,  and  wistfully  gazed  on  the 
landscape. 

Washed  with  a  cold  gray  mist,  the  vapc^-y  breath  of  the  east- 
wind,  55 

Forest  and  meadow  and  hill,  and  the  steel-blue  rim  of  the 
ocean. 

Lying  silent  and  sad,  in  the  afternoon  shadows  and  sunshine. 

Over  his  countenance  flitted  a  shadow  like  those  on  the  land- 
scape. 

Gloom  intermingled  with  light;  and  his  voice  was  subdued 
with  emotion, 

1  A  short,  light  cannon  designed  to  throw  large  projectiles  with  comparatively  small 
charges.  The  planting  of  the  howitzer  on  the  meeting-house  occurred  some  time  after 
the  time  of  this  poem.  The  settlement  was  fortified  by  five  guns  mounted  on  a  platform 
on  a  neighboring  hill, 

2  A  sachem  was  chief  of  a  tribe  ;  a  sagamore,  of  a  lower  rank  ;  and  a  pow-wow,  a  medi- 
cine man  and  conjuror. 

3  These  names  were  taken  by  the  poet  from  the  early  histories  of  the  colony. 


6  THE   COUKTSHIP   OF 

Tenderness,  pity,  regret,  as  after  a  pause  he  proceeded :        60 

'*  Yonder  there,  on  the  hill  by  the  sea,  lies  buried  Rose  Stan- 
dish  ; 

Beautiful  rose  of  love,  that  bloomed  for  me  by  the  wayside! 

She  was  the  first  to  die  of  all  who  came  in  the  '  Mayflower!  ' 

Green  above  her  is  growing  the  field  of  wheat  we  have  sown 
there. 

Better  to  hide  from  the  Indian  scouts  the  graves  of  our 
people,  65 

Lest  they  should  count  them  and  see  how  many  already  have 
perished!  "  ^ 

Sadly  his  face  he  averted,  and  strode  up  and  down,  and  was 
thoughtful. 

Fixed  to  the  opposite  wall  was  a  shelf  of  books,  and  among 
them 

Prominent  three,  distinguished  alike  for  bulk  and  for  bind- 
ing; 

Barriife's  "  Artillery  Guide,'"'  and  the  '^  Commentaries  of 
Ca?sar,"  70 

Out  of  the  Latin  translated  by  Arthur  Goldinge  ^  of  London, 

And,  as  if  guarded  by  these,  between  them  was  standing  the 
Bible. 

Musing  a  moment  before  them.  Miles  Standish  paused,  as  if 
doubtful 

Which  of  the  three  he  should  choose  for  his  consolation  and 
comfort, 

^  The  colonists  suffered  terribly  during  the  first  winter  here  referred  to  (1620-21),  and 
about  fifty  out  of  a  hundred  of  them  died.  Dr.  Abiel  Holmes,  in  his  Annals  of  America^ 
records  how  the  survivors  buried  the  dead  on  a  hill  near  the  beach  and  left  the  graves 
unmarked,  so  that  the  weakness  of  the  colony  might  not  be  perceived  by  the  Indians. 

2  Colonel  William  Barriffe's  MilUarie  Discipline  ;  or.  The  Young  Artillery  Ma?i,  a 
work  containing  a  system  of  tactics  for  gunners,  musketeers,  and  pikemen.  The  author 
was  a  Puritan  and  added  to  the  title  of  his  book  an  appropriate  passage  of  Scripture- 
Psalms,  cxliv.  1. 

3  Arthur  Golding  (1536?-1605?),  an  English  writer  and  friend  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  He 
is  remembered  for  his  translations  of  Ovid,  Gtesar,  and  De  Mornay. 


MILES   STANDISH.  7 

Whether  the  wars  of  the  Hebrews,  the  famous  campaigns  of 

the  Romans,  75 

Or  the  artillery  practice,  designed  for  belligerent  Christians. 
Finally  down  from  its  shelf  he  dragged  the  ponderous  Roman, 
Seated  himself  at  the  window,  and  opened  the  book,  and  in 

silence 
Turned  o'er  the  well-worn  leaves,  where  thumb-marks  thick 

on  the  margin, 
Like  the  trample  of  feet,  proclaimed  the  battle  was  hottest.  80] 
Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurrying  pen  of  TEe 

stripling, 
Busily  writing  epistles  important,  to  go  by  the  ^'  Mayflower," 
Ready  to  sail  on  the  morrow,  or  next  day  at  latest,'  God 

willing! 
Homeward  bound  with  the  tidings  of  all  that  terrible  winter. 
Letters  written   by  Alden,  and   full  of   the  name   of   Pris- 

cilla,'  85 

Full  of  the  name  and  the  fame  of  the  Puritan  maiden  Pris- 

cilla! 

II. 

LOVE   AND   FRIEN^DSHIP. 

\  Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurrying  pen  of  the 

stripling, 
Or  an  occasional  sigh  from  the  laboring  heart  of  the  Captain, 
Reading  the  marvellous  words  and  achievements  of  Julius 

Caesar. 
After  a  while  he  exclaimed,  as  he  smote  with  his  hand,  palm 

downwards. 
Heavily  on  the  page:  "  A  wonderful  man  was  this  Caesar!     5 
You  are  a  writer,  and  I  am  a  fighter,  but  here  is  a  fellow 

'  The  ship  sailed  on  April  5,  1621,  taking  only  her  crew  on  the  homeward  voyage. 
This  line  fixes  definitely  the  time  of  the  story. 

2  Among  the  emigrants  on  the  "  Mayflower  "  are  mentioned  :  "Mr.  William  Mullines 
and  his  wife  and  two  children,  Joseph  and  Priscilla  ;  and  a  servant,  Robart  Carter." 


8  THE   COURTSHIP   OF 

Who  could  both  write  and  fight,  and  in  both  was  equally 

skilful!" 
Straightway  answered  and  spake  John  Alden,  the  comely,  the 

youthful : 
*^  Yes,  he  was  equally  skilled,  as  you  say,  with  his  pen  and 

his  weapons. 
Somewhere  have  I  read,  but  where  I  forget,  he  could  dictate  10 
Seven  letters  at  once,  at  the  same  time  writing  his  memoirs." 
''Truly,"  continued  the  Captain,  not  heeding  or  hearing  the 

other, 
"  Truly  a  wonderful  man  was  Gains  Julius  Caesar! 
Better  be  first,  he  said,  in  a  little  Iberian^  village, 
Than  be  second  in  Rome,^  and  I  think  he  was  right  when  he 

said  it.  15 

Twice  was  he  married  before  he  was  twenty,  and  many  times 

after ; 
Battles  five  hundred  he  fought,  and  a  thousand  cities  he  con- 
quered ; 
He,  too,  fought  in  Flanders,  as  he  himself  has  recorded; 
Finally  he  was  stabbed  by  his  friend,  the  orator  Brutus!  ^ 
]^ow,   do  you  know  what  he  did  on  a  certain  occasion  in 

Flanders,  20 

When  the  rear-guard  of  his  army  retreated,  the  front  giving 

way  too, 

1  Iberia  was  an  ancient  name  of  Spain. 

2  Plutarch  thus  relates  the  incident :  "  In  his  journey,  as  he  was  crossing  the  Alps  and 
passing  by  a  small  village  of  the  barbarians  with  but  few  inhabitants,  and  those  wretch- 
edly poor,  his  companions  asked  the  question  among  themselves  by  way  of  mockery  if 
there  were  any  canvassing  for  offices  there  ;  any  contention  which  should  be  uppermost, 
or  feuds  of  great  men  one  against  another.  To  which  Caesar  made  answer  seriously, 
'  For  my  part  I  had  rather  be  the  first  man  among  these  fellows,  than  the  second  man  in 
Rome.'  " — Cmsar^  in  Lives  of  Illustrious  Meii,  translated  by  Dryden,  etc.,  vol.  ii.,  page 
511. 

3  Marcus  Junius  Brutus  (85-42  b.c),  a  Roman  soldier,  statesman,  and  scholar.  He 
was  in  turn  an  adherent  of  Pompey  and  Caesar,  became  governor  of  Cisalpine  Gaul  and 
afterwards  City  Praetor.  He  was  induced  by  Caseins,  on  the  plea  of  patriotism,  to  take 
part  in  the  assassination  of  his  friend  Caesar.  After  his  defeat  in  the  second  battle  at 
Philippi,  he  committed  suicide. 


MILES  STANDISH.  9 

And  the  immortal  Twelfth  Legion  ^  was  crowded  so  closely 

together 
There  was  no  room  for  their  swords  ?  Why,  he  seized  a  shield 

from  a  soldier. 
Put  himself  straight  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  and  commanded 

the  captains. 
Calling  on  each  by  his  name,  to  order  forward  the  ensigns;  25 
Then  to  widen   the   ranks,  and   give   more   room  for  their 

weapons ; 
So  he  won  the  day,  the  battle  of  something-or-other.'' 
That's  what  I  always  say;  if  you  wish  a  thing  to  be  well 

done. 
You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave  it  to  others!  " 

All  was  silent  again;  the  Captain  continued  his  reading.  30 
Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurrying  pen  of  the 

stripling 
Writing  epistles  important  to  go  next  day  by  the  *^  May- 
flower," 
Filled  with  the  name  and  the  fame  of  the  Puritan  maiden 

Priscilla ; 
Every  sentence  began  or  closed  with  the  name  of  Priscilla, 
Till  the  treacherous  pen,  to  which  he  confided  the  secret,     35 
Strove  to  betray  it  by  singing  and  shouting  the  name  of  Pris- 
cilla! 
Finally  closing  his  book,  with  a  bang  of  the  ponderous  cover. 
Sudden  and  loud  as  the  sound  of  a  soldier  grounding  his 

musket. 
Thus  to  the  young  man  spake  Miles  Standish  the  Captain  of 
Plymouth : 

*  A  Roman  legion,  the  most  perfect  fighting  machine  of  ancient  times,  was,  in  the  first 
century  b.c,  composed  of  about  6,000  men,  divided  into  ten  cohorts,  each  of  these  into 
three  maniples,  and  these  in  turn  into  two  centuries. 

2  Caesar's  Commentaries,  Book  II.,  chap.  x. 


10  THE  COURTSHIP   OF 

'*  AVlien  you  have  finished  your  work,  I  have  something  im- 
portant to  tell  you.  40 
Be  not  however  in  haste;  I  can  wait;  I  shall  not  be  impa- 
tient! " 
Straightway  Alden  replied,  as  he  folded  the  last  of  his  letters, 
Pushing  his  papers  aside,  and  giving  respectful  attention : 
'*  Speak;    for   whenever  you   speak,   I  am   always   ready  to 

listen, 
Always  ready  to  hear  whatever  pertains  to  Miles  Standish.'^  45 
Thereupon  answered  the  Captain,  embarrassed,  and  culling 

his  phrases: 
"  'Tis  not  good  for  a  man  to  be  alone,'  say  the  Scriptures. 
This  I  have  said  before,  and  again  and  again  I  repeat  it; 
Every  hour  in  the  day,  I  think  it,  and  feel  it,  and  say  it. 
Since   Eose    Standish   died,   my   life   has    been    weary    and 
dreary ;  50 

Sick  at  heart  have  I  been,  beyond  the  healing  of  friendship. 
Oft  in  my  lonely  hours  have  I  thought  of  the  maiden  Pris- 

cilla. 
She  is  alone  in  the  world;  her  father  and  mother  and  brother 
Died  in  the  winter  together;  ^  I  saw  her  going  and  coming, 
Now  to  the  grave  of  the  dead,  and  now  to  the  bed  of  the 
dying,  55 

Patient,  courageous,  and  strong,  and  said  to  myself,  that  if  ever 
There  were  angels  on  earth,  as  there  are  angels  in  heaven. 
Two  have  I  seen  and  known;  and  the  angel  whose  name  is 

Priscilla 
Holds  in  my  desolate  life  the  place  which  the  other  aban- 
doned. 
Long  have  I  cherished  the  thought,  but  never  have  dared  to 
reveal  it,  60 

•  (Jenesis  ii.,  18. 

'^  "Mr.  Mollnes,"  saye  Bradford,  "and  his  wife,  his  Bone  and  hie  eervaut,  dyed  the 
first  winter.  Only  his  daughter  Priecila  survived  and  married  with  John  Alden,  who  are 
both  living  and  have  11  chi]dreii.'"—IIisto?'y  of  Plymouth  Plantation,  p.  452. 


Friscilla. 


Painting  by  G.  H.  Boughton. 


MILES  STANDISH.  11 

Being  a  coward  in  this,  though  valiant  enough  for  the  most 
part. 

Go  to  the  damsel  Priscilla,  the  loveliest  maiden  of  Plymouth, 

Say  that  a  blunt  old  Captain,  a  man  not  of  words  but  of 
actions. 

Offers  his  hand  and  his  heart,  the  hand  and  heart  of  a  soldier. 

Not  in  these  words,  you  know,  but  this  in  short  is  my  mean- 
ing; 65 

I  am  a  maker  of  war,  and  not  a  maker  of  phrases. 

You,  who  are  bred  as  a  scholar,  can  say  it  in  elegant  language. 

Such  as  you  read  in  your  books  of  the  pleadings  and  wooings 
of  lovers. 

Such  as  you  think  best  adapted  to  win  the  heart  of  a 
maiden.^' 

When  he  had  spoken,  John  Alden,  the  fair-haired,  taciturn 
stripling,  70 

All  aghast  at  his  words,  surprised,  embarrassed,  bewildered. 

Trying  to  mask  his  dismay  by  treating  the  subject  with  light- 
ness. 

Trying  to  smile,  and  yet  feeling  his  heart  stand  still  in  his 
bosom. 

Just  as  a  timepiece  stops  in  a  house  that  is  stricken  by  light- 
ning. 

Thus  made  answer  and  spake,  or  rather  stammered  than 
answered :  75 

"  Such  a  message  as  that,  I  am  sure  I  should  mangle  and 
mar  it; 

If  you  would  have  it  well  done, — I  am  only  repeating  your 
maxim, — 

You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave  it  to  others!  " 

But  with  the  air  of  a  man  whom  nothing  can  turn  from  his 
purpose. 

Gravely  shaking  his  head,  made  answer  the  Captain  of  Plym- 
outh :  80 


12  THE   COURTSHIP  OF 

*'  Truly  the  maxim  is  good,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  gainsay  it; 

But  we  must  use  it  discreetly,  and  not  waste  powder  for 
nothing. 

Now,  as  I  said  before,  I  was  never  a  maker  of  phrases. 

I  can  march  up  to  a  fortress  and  summon  the  place  to  sur- 
render. 

But  march  up  to  a  woman  with  such  a  proposal,  I  dare  not.   85 

I'm  not  afraid  of  bullets,  nor  shot  from  the  mouth  of  a  can- 
non, 

But  of  a  thundering  'No!'  point-blank  from  the  mouth  of 
a  woman, 

That  I  confess  I'm  afraid  of,  nor  am  I  ashamed  to  confess  it! 

So  you  must  grant  my  request,  for  you  are  an  elegant 
scholar. 

Having  the  graces  of  speech,  and  skill  in  the  turning  of 
phrases."  90 

Taking  the  hand  of  his  friend,  who  still  was  reluctant  and 
doubtful. 

Holding  it  long  in  his  own,  and  pressing  it  kindly,  he  added: 

"  Though  I  have  spoken  thus  lightly,  yet  deep  is  the  feeling 
that  prompts  me; 

Surely  you  cannot  refuse  what  I  ask  in  the  name  of  our 
friendship!  " 

Then  made  answer  John  Alden:  *'  The  name  of  friendship  is 
sacred ;  95 

What  you  demand  in  that  name,  I  have  not  the  power  to  deny 
you!  " 

So  the  strong  will  prevailed,  subduing  and  moulding  the 
gentler. 

Friendship  prevailed  over  love,  and  Alden  went  on  his  errand. 


J 


MILES   STAN  DISH.  13 

III. 

THE   lover's   ERRAI^D. 

So  the  strong  will  prevailed,  and  Alden  went  on  his  errand, 
Out  of  the  street  of  the  village,  and  into  the  paths  of  the  forest, 
Into  tlie  tranquil  woods,  where   bluebirds  and  robins  were 
building  ^ 

Towns  in  the  populous  trees,  with  hanging  gardens '  of  ver- 
dure. 
Peaceful,  aerial  cities  of  joy  and  affection  aud  freedom.  5 

All  around  him  was  calm,  but  within  him  commotion  and 

couflict. 
Love  contending  with  friendship,  and  self  with  each  generous 

impulse. 
To  and  fro  in  his  breast  his  thoughts  were  heaving  and  dash- 
ing. 
As  in  a  foundering  ship,  with  every  roll  of  the  vessel, 
AYashes  the  bitter  sea,  the  merciless  surge  of  the  ocean!        10 
*'  Must  I  relinquish  it  all,"  he  cried  with  a  wild  lamenta- 
tion,— 
"  Must  I  relinquish  it  all,  the  joy,  the  hope,  the  illusion? 
Was  it  for  this  I  have  loved,  and  waited,  and  worshipped  in 

silence  ? 
Was  it  for  this  I  have  followed  the  flying  feet  and  the  shadow 
Over  the  wintry  sea,  to  the  desolate  shores  of  New  England  ?  15 
Truly  the  heart  is  deceitful,  and  out  of  its  depths  of  corrup- 
tion 
Rise,  like  an  exhalation,  the  misty  phantoms  of  passion; 
Angels  of  light  they  seem,  but  are  only  delusions  of  Satan. 
All  is  clear  to  me  now;  I  feel  it,  I  see  it  distinctly! 

1  The  lianging  gardens  of  Babylon  were  regarded  as  one  of  the  seven  wonders  of  the 
ancient  world.  They  were  a  mass  of  terraces  supported  by  pillars  and  elaborate  masonry, 
forming  an  artificial  hill  of  pyramidal  shape  in  the  vast  plain  of  the  Euphrates.  They 
had  an  area  of  four  acres,  and  were  covered  with  luxuriant  vegetation  of  all  kinds,  which 
was  irrigated  from  a  reservoir  at  the  summit  of  the  whole. 


14  THE   COURTSHIP  OF 

This  is  the  hand  of  the  Lord ;  it  is  laid  upon  me  in  anger,    20 
For  I  have  followed  too  much  the  heart's  desires  and  de- 
vices, f 
Worshipping  Astaroth  '  blindly,  and  impious  idols  of  Baal.' 
This  is  the  cross  I  must  bear;  the  sin  and  the  swift  retribu- 
tion." 

So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden  went  on  his 

errand ; 
Crossing  the  brook  at  the  ford,  where  it  brawled  over  pebble 

and  shallow,  25 

Gathering  still,  as  he  went,  the  Mayflowers  blooming  around 

him. 
Fragrant,  filling  the  air  with  a  strange  and  wonderful  sweet- 
ness, 
Children  lost  in  the  woods,  and  covered  with  leaves  in  their 

slumber.^ 
'' Puritan    flowers,"    he    said,    "and    the    type   of    Puritan 

maidens. 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  the  very  type  of  Priscilla!      30 
So  I  will  take  them  to  her;  to  Priscilla  the  Mayflower  of 

Plymouth, 

1  More  properly  Ashtoreth,  the  goddess  of  love,  and  principal  female  divinity  of  the 
Phenicians.  Like  the  Greek  Astarte,  she  is  identified  with  the  moon,  and  is  represented 
under  the  symbol  of  the  crescent.  Groves  were  favorite  places  of  her  worship,  which  is 
denounced  in  the  Old  Testament,  See  Judges,  ii.  13,  1  Samuel,  xii.  10,  and  1  Kings,  xi. 
5,43. 

2  The  supreme  male  deity  of  the  Phenicians,  representing  the  fertility  and  productive 
power  of  nature.  He  was  worshipped  as  the  sun-god,  and  incense,  bulls,  and  human 
sacrifices,  especially  children,  were  offered  to  him.  His  worship,  like  that  of  Ashtoreth, 
was  attended  by  wild  and  licentious  orgies.  See  Joshua,  xi.  17,  Jeremiah,  xxxii.  29,  and 
1  Kings,  xvi.  32,  and  xviii.  26. 

3  Children  in  the  wood,  or  babes  in  the  wood.  An  old  English  ballad  of  unknown 
authorship,  preserved  in  Ritson's,  Percy's,  and  other  collections.  The  ballad  was  entered 
in  the  Stationer'' s  Register^  in  1595.  In  1601  a  play  was  published  "of  a  young  child 
murthered  in  a  wood  by  two  ruftins  with  the  consent  of  his  unkle."  The  plot  of  this 
play  was  undoubtedly  derived  from  the  Italian,  and  the  ballad  may  have  been  produced 
from  the  same  source. —  Child. 


MILES  STANDISH.  15 

Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  as  a  parting  gift  will  I  take 
them ; 

Breathing  their  silent  farewells,  as  they  fade  and  wither  and 

perish, 
\Soon  to  be  thrown  away  as  is  the  heart  of  the  giver." 

So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John   Alden  went  on  his 
errand ;  35 

Came  to  an  open  space,  and  saw  the  disk  of  the  ocean, 

Sailless,  sombre  and  cold  with  the  comfortless  breath  of  the 
east-wind ; 

Saw  the  new-built  house,  and  people  at  work  in  a  meadow; 

Heard,  as  he  drew  near  the  door,  the  musical  voice  of  Priscilla 

Singing  the  hundredth   Psalm,  the   grand  old  Puritan  an- 
them,' 40 

Music  that  Luther  ^  sang  to  the  sacred  words  of  the  Psalm- 
ist, 

Full  of  the  breath  of  the  Lord,  consoling  and  comforting 
many. 

Then,   as  he  opened  the  door,  he   beheld  the  form  of  the 
maiden 

Seated  beside  her  wheel,  and  the  carded  wool  like  a  snow-drift 

Piled  at  her   knee,  her  white  hands  feeding   the   ravenous 
spindle,  45 

While  with  her  foot  on  the  treadle  she  guided  the  wheel  in 
its  motion. 

1  The  tune  sung  by  Priscilla  is  now  familiarly  known  as  Old  Hundred  ;  the  version 
was  the  translation  of  Psalm  c.  by  Ainsworth  : 

"  Bow  to  Jehovah  all  the  earth. 
Serve  ye  Jehovah  with  gladness;  before  him  come  with  singing  mirth. 
Know  that  Jehovah  he  God  is.    It's  he  that  made  us  and  not  we,  his  flock  and  sheep 

of  his  feeding. 
Oh,  with  confession  enter  ye  his  gates,  his  courtyard  with  praising.  Confess  to  him, 

bless  ye  his  name. 
Because  Jehovah  he  good  is;  his  mercy  ever  is  the  same,  and  his  faith  unto  all  ages." 

2  Martin  Luther,  a  Grerman  reformer  and  translator  of  the  Bible.  He  was  born  at 
Eisleben,  Prussian  Saxony,  Nov.  10,  1483,  and  died  in  the  same  place,  Feb.  18,  1546.  He 
translated  the  Psalms  in  1524,  and  in  the  same  year  appeared  his  hymn-book. 


16  THE   COURTSHIP   OF 

Open  wide  on  her  lap  lay  the  well-worn  psalm-book  of  Ains- 
worth,* 

Printed  in  Amsterdam/  the  words  and  the  music  together, 

Eough-hewn,  angular  notes,  like  stones  in  the  wall  of  a 
churchyard, 

Darkened  and  overhung  by  the  running  vine  of  the  verses.  50 

Such  was  the  book  from  whose  pages  she  sang  the  old  Puritan 
anthem. 

She,  the  Puritan  girl,  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest. 

Making  the  humble  house  and  the  modest  apparel  of  home- 
spun 

Beautiful  with  her  beauty,  and  rich  with  the  wealth  of  her 
being ! 

Over  him  rushed,  like  a  wind  that  is  keen  and  cold  and  re- 
lentless, 55 

Thoughts  of  what  might  have  been,  and  the  weight  and  woe 
of  his  errand; 

All  the  dreams  that  had  faded,  and  all  the  hopes  that  had 
vanished. 

All  his  life  henceforth  a  dreary  and  tenantless  mansion. 

Haunted  by  vain  regrets,  and  pallid,  sorrowful  faces. 

Still  he  said  to  himself,  and  almost  fiercely  he  said  it,  60 

*'  Let  not  him  that  putteth  his  hand  to  the  plough  look  back- 
wards ;  ^ 

Though  the  ploughshare  cut  through  the  flowers  of  life  to  its 
fountains. 

Though  it  pass  o'er  the  graves  of  the  dead  and  the  hearths  of 
the  living, 

It  is  the  will  of  the  Lord;  and  his  mercy  endureth  forever!  "  ' 

1  Henry  Aineworth,  an  English  separatist  clergyman,  controversialist,  and  rabbinical 
scholar.    Born  at  Pleasington,  Lancashire,  England,  1571 ;  died  at  Amsterdam  about  1622. 

2  The  chief  commercial  city  of  Holland,  to  which  Ainsworth  fled  from  the  persecution 
of  the  Brownlsts.  There  he  became  porter  to  a  bookseller  and  later  pastor  to  a  congrega- 
tion. 

»  Luke,  ix.  62. 

*  Jeremiah,  zxxiii.  11. 


MILES   STANDISH.  17 

So  he  entered  the  house ;  and  the  hum  of  the  wheel  and  the 
singing  65 

Suddenly  ceased;  for  Priscilla,  aroused  by  his  step  on  the 
threshold. 

Rose  as  he  entered  and  gave  him  her  hand,  in  signal  of  wel- 
come. 

Saying,  "  I  knew  it  was  you,  when  I  heard  your  step  in  the 
passage ; 

For  I  was  thinking  of  you,  as  I  sat  there  singing  and  spin- 
ning." 

Awkward  and  dumb  with  delight,  that  a  thought  of  him  had 
been  mingled  70 

Thus  in  the  sacred  psalm,  that  came  from  the  heart  of  the 
maiden. 

Silent  before  her  he  stood,  and  gave  her  the  flowers  for  an 
answer. 

Finding  no  words  for  his  thought.  He  remembered  that  day 
in  the  winter. 

After  the  first  great  snow,  when  he  broke  a  path  from  the 
village. 

Reeling  and  plunging  along  through  the  drifts  that  encum- 
bered the  doorway,  75 

Stamping  the  snow  from  his  feet  as  he  entered  the  house,  and 
Priscilla 

Laughed  at  his  snowy  locks,  and  gave  him  a  seat  by  the  fire- 
side, 

Grateful  and  pleased  to  know  he  had  thought  of  her  in  the 
snow-storm. 

Had  he  but  spoken  then!  perhaps  not  in  vain  had  he  spoken; 

Now  it  was  all  too  late;  the  golden  moment  had  vanished!  80 

So  he  stood  there  abashed,  and  gave  her  the  flowers  for  an 
answer. 

Then  they  sat  down  and  talked  of  the  birds  and  the  beauti- 
ful springtime; 
2 


18  THE   COUKTSHir   OF 

Talked  of  their  friends  at  home,  and  the  **  Mayflower ''  that 
sailed  on  the  morrow. 

''I  have  been  thinking  all  day,"  said  gently  the  Puritan 
maiden, 

"  Dreaming  all  night,  and  thinking  all  day,  of  the  hedgerows 
of  England,—  85 

They  are  in  blossom  now,  and  the  country  is  all  like  a  gar- 
den; 

Thinking  of  lanes  and  fields,  and  the  song  of  the  lark  and  the 
linnet. 

Seeing  the  village  street,  and  familiar  faces  of  neighbors 

Going  about  as  of  old,  and  stopping  to  gossip  together. 

And,  at  the  end  of  the  street,  the  village  church,  with  the 
ivy  90 

Climbing  the  old  gray  tower,  and  the  quiet  graves  in  the      ,. 
churchyard.  pt-rxM. 

Kind  are  the  people  I  live  with,  and  dear  to  me  my  religion; 

Still  my  heart  is  so  sad,  that  I  wish  myself  back  in  Old  Eng- 
land. 

You  will  say  it  is  wrong,  but  I  cannot  help  it:  I  almost 

Wish  myself  back  in  Old  England,  I  feel  so  lonely  and 
wretched."  95 

Thereupon  answered  the  youth:  *' Indeed  I  do  not  con- 
demn you; 

Stouter  hearts  than  a  woman's  have  quailed  in  this  terrible 
winter. 

Yours  is  tender  and  trusting,  and  needs  a  stronger  to  lean  on; 

So  I  have  come  to  you  now,  with  an  offer  and  proffer  of  mar- 
riage 

Made  by  a  good  man  and  true.  Miles  Standish  the  Captain  of 
Plymouth!"  100 

Thus  he  delivered  his  message,  the  dexterous  writer  of 
letters, — 


MILES  STANDISH.  19 

Did  not  embellish  the  theme,  nor  array  it  in  beautiful  phrases. 
But  came  straight  to  the  point,  and  blurted  it  out  like  a 

school-boy; 
Even  the  Captain   himself  could  hardly  have  said  it  more 

bluntly. 
Mute   with    amazement   and    sorrow,    Priscilla   the   Puritan 

maiden  105 

Looked  into  Aid  en's  face,  her  eyes  dilated  with  wonder. 
Feeling  his  words  like  a  blow,  that  stunned  her  and  rendered 

her  speechless; 
Till  at  length  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  the  ominous  silence: 
"  If  the  great  Captain  of  Plymouth  is  so  very  eager  to  wed  me. 
Why  does  he  not  come  himself,  and  take  the  trouble  to  woo 

me?  110 

If  I  am  not  worth  the  wooing,  I  surely  am  not  worth  the 

winning!  " 
Then  John  Alden  began  explaining  and  smoothing  the  matter. 
Making  it  worse  as  he  went,  by  saying  the  Captain  was  busy, — 
Had  no  time  for  such  things; — such  things!  the  words  grating 

harshly 
Fell  on  the  ear  of  Priscilla;  and  swift  as  a  flash  she  made 

answer:  115 

"  Has  he  no  time  for  such  things,  as  you  call  it,  before  he  is 

married. 
Would  he  be  likely  to  find  it,  or  make  it,  after  the  wedding  ? 
That  is  the  way  with  you  men;  you  don't  understand  us,  you 

cannot. 
When  you  have  made  up  your  minds,  after  thinking  of  this 

one  and  that  one, 
Choosing,    selecting,    rejecting,    comparing    one    with    an 

other,  120 

Then  you  make  known  your  desire,  with  abrupt  and  sudden 

avowal. 
And  are  offended  and  hurt,  and  indignant  perhaps,  that  a 

woman 


20  THE  COURTSHIP  OF 

Does  not  respond  at  once  to  a  love  that  she  never  suspected, 
Does  not  attain  at  a  bound  the  height  to  wnich  you  have  beea 

climbing. 
This  is  not  right  nor  just;  for  surely  a  woman's  affection  125 
Is  not  a  thing  to  be  asked  for,  and  had  for  only  the  asking. 
When  one  is  truly  in  love,  one  not  only  says  it,  but  shows  it. 
Had  he  but  waited  awhile,  had  he  only  showed  that  he  loved 

me. 
Even  this  Captain  of  yours — who  knows  ? — at  last  might  have 

won  me. 
Old  and  rough  as  he  is;  but  now  it  never  can  happen."      130 

Still  John  Alden  went  on,  unheeding  the  words  of  Pris- 
cilla. 

Urging  the  suit  of  his  friend,  explaining,  persuading,  ex- 
panding ; 

Spoke  of  his  courage  and  skill,  and  of  all  his  battles  in  Flan- 
ders, 

How  with  the  people  of  God  he  had  chosen  to  suffer  affliction,' 

How,  in  return  for  his  zeal,  they  had  made  him  Captain  of 
Plymouth;  135 

He  was  a  gentleman  born,  could  trace  his  pedigree  plainly 

Back  to  Hugh  Standish  of  Duxbury  Hall,  in  Lancashire, 
England, 

Who  was  the  son  of  Ealph,  and  the  grandson  of  Thurston  de 
Standish ; 

Heir  unto  vast  estates,  of  which  he  was  basely  defrauded. 

Still  bore  the  family  arms,  and  had  for  his  crest  a  cock 
argent  140 

Combed  and  wattled  gules,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  blazon." 

1  Hebrews,  xi.  25. 

2  Captain  Standish  had  inherited,  according  to  the  laws  of  heraldry,  the  family  armo- 
rial insignia.  These  were  originally  embroidered  on  the  knight's  hauberk,  or  coat-of- 
mail— hence  the  term,  coat  of  arms— but  later,  on  the  shield  or  escutcheon.  The  Standish 
crest  was  a  silver  cock,  with  red  comb  and  wattle,  appended  to  the  family  shield.  Blazon 
is  the  description  in  heraldic  terms  of  the  charges,  or  objects,  on  the  shield. 


MILES  STANDISH.  21 

He  was  a  man  of  honor,  of  noble  and  generous  nature; 

Though  he  was  rough,  he  was  kindly;  she  knew  how  during 
the  winter 

He  had  attended  the  sick,  with  a  hand  as  gentle  as  woman's; 

Somewhat  hasty  and  hot,  he  could  not  deny  it,  and  head- 
strong, 145 

Stern  as  a  soldier  might  be,  but  hearty,  and  placable  al- 
ways, 

Not  to  be  laughed  at  and  scorned^  because  he  was  little  of 
stature; 

For  he  was  great  of  heart,  magnanimous,  courtly,  courageous; 

Any  woman  in  Plymouth,  nay,  any  woman  in  England, 

Might  be  happ\^^  and  proud  to  be  called  the  wife  of  Miles 
Standish !  .  150 

But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  sim^Dle  and  eloquent 
language. 
Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of  his  rival. 
Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  overrunning  with 

laughter, 
Said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  ''Why  don't  you  speak  for  your- 
self, John  ?  " 

IV. 

JOHK   ALDEN". 

I:n^to  the  open  air  John  Alden,  perplexed  and  bewildered. 
Rushed  like  a  man  insane,  and  wandered  alone  by  the  sea- 
side; 
Paced  up  and  down  the  sands,  and  bared  his  head  to  the  east 

wind. 
Cooling  his  heated  brow,  and  the  fire  and  fever  within  him. 
Slowly,  as  out  of  the  heavens,  with  apocalyptical  splendors,    5 
Sank  the  City  of  God,  in  the  vision  of  John  the  Apostle, ' 

1  Revelation  of  St.  John,  xxi.  10-27. 


22  THE  COUETSHIP  OF 

So,   with    its  cloudy   walls  of  chrysolite,   jasper,   and  sap- 
phire. 
Sank  the  broad  red  sun,  and  over  its  turrets  uplifted 
Glimmered  the  golden  reed  of  the  angel  who  measured  the 

city. 

*'  Welcome,  0  wind  of  the  East!  "  he  exclaimed  in  his  wild 
exultation,  10 

"  Welcome,  0  wind  of  the  East,  from  the  caves  of  the  misty 
Atlantic! 

Blowing  o'er  fields  of  dulse,'  and  measureless  meadows  of  sea- 
grass. 

Blowing  o'er  rocky  wastes,  and  the  grottos  and  gardens  of 
ocean ! 

Lay  thy  cold,  moist  hand  on  my  burning  forehead,  and  wrap 
me 

Close  in  thy  garments  of  mist,  to  allay  the  fever  within 
me!"  15 

I  Like  an  awakened  conscience,  the  sea  was  moaning  and 
tossing. 

Beating  remorseful  and  loud  the  mutable  sands  of  the  sea- 
shore. 

Fierce  in  his  soul  was  the  struggle  and  tumult  of  passions 
contending; 

Love  triumphant  and  crowned,  and  friendship  wounded  and 
bleeding, 

Passionate  cries  of  desire,  and  importunate  pleadings  of 
duty!  20 

*'Is  it  my  fault,"  he  said,  **that  the  maiden  has  chosen  be- 
tween us  ? 

Is  it  my  fault  that  he  failed, — my  fault  that  I  am  the  vic- 
tor?" 

1  Sea-weed  of  a  reddish  brown  color,  adhering  to  the  rocks  in  long  strips,  and  some- 
times eaten,  as  in  Scotland. 


MILES  STANDISH.  23 

Then  within  him  there  thundered  a  voice,  like  the  voice  of 
the  Prophet: 

"It  hath  displeased  the  Lord!  " — and  he  thought  of  David's 
transgress]  onj 

Bathsheba's '  beautiful  face,  and  his  friend  in  the  front  of  the 
battle !  25 

Shame  and  confusion  of  guilt,  and  abasement  and  self-con- 
demnation. 

Overwhelmed  him  at  once;  and  he  cried  in  the  deepest  con- 
trition: 

^^  It  hath  displeased  the  Lord!  It  is  the  temptation  of  Sa- 
tan!" 

Then,  uplifting  his  head,  he  looked  at  the  sea,  and  beheld 
there 
Dimly   the   shadowy   form   of   the    *' Mayflower"   riding   at 
anchor,  30 

Rocked  on  the  rising  tide,  and  ready  to  sail  on  the  morrow; 
Heard  the  voices  of  men  through  the  mist,  the  rattle  of  cord- 
age 
Thrown  on  the  deck,  the  shouts  of  the  mate,  and  the  sailors' 

''Ay,  ay.  Sir!" 
Clear  and  distinct,  but  not  loud,  in  the  dripping  air  of  the 

twilight. 
Still  for  a  moment  he  stood,  and  listened,  and  stared  at  the 
vessel  35 

Then  went  hurriedly  on,  as  one  who,  seeing  a  phantom, 
"^Stops,   then  quickens  his   pace,  and  follows  the  beckoning 
^—  shadow. 

\'*  Yes,  it  is  plain  to  me  now,"  he  murmured;  ''the  hand  of 
the  Lord  is 

1  The  beautiful  wife  of  Uriah  the  Hittite,  afterwards  the  wife  of  King  David  and  the 
mother  of  Solomon.  The  Prophet  was  Nathan.  The  story  of  Bathsheba  will  be  found  in 
II.  Samuel,  chaps,  xi.  and  xii.  It  is  the  subject  of  an  old  play  by  George  Peele,  called 
The  Love  of  King  David  and  Fair  Bethsabe  (1599), 


24  THE   COUETSHIP    OF 

Leading  me  out  of  the  land  of  darkness,  the  bondage  of  error. 

Through  the  sea,  that  shall  lift  the  walls  of  its  waters  around 
me,  40 

Hiding  me,  cutting  me  olf,  from  the  cruel  thoughts  that  pur- 
sue me/ 

Back  will  I  go  o'er  the  ocean,  this  dreary  land  will  aban- 
don. 

Her  whom  I  may  not  love,  and  him  whom  my  heart  has 
offended. 

Better  to  be  in  my  grave  in  the  green  old  churchyard  in  Eng- 
land, 

Close  by  my  mother's  side,  and  among  the  dust  of  my  kin- 
dred; -  45 

Better  be  dead  and  forgotten,  than  living  in  shame  and  dis- 
honor ! 

Sacred  and  safe  and  unseen,  in  the  dark  of  the  narrow  cham- 
ber 

With  me  my  secret  shall  lie,  like  a  buried  jewel  that  glimmers 

Bright  on  the  hand  that  is  dust,  in  the  chambers  of  silence 
and  darkness, — 

Yes,  as  the  marriage  ring  of  the  great  espousal  hereafter!  "  50 

Thus  as  he  spake,  he  turned,  in  the  strength,  of  his  strong 
resolution. 
Leaving  behind  him  the  shore,  and  hurried  along  in  the  twi- 
light. 
Through  the  congenial  gloom  of  the  forest  silent  and  sombre. 
Till  he  beheld  the  lights  in  the  seven  houses^  of  Plymouth, 
Shining  like  seven  stars  in  the  dusk  and  mist  of  the  even- 
ing. 55 
Soon  he  entered  his  door,  and  found  the  redoubtable  Captain 

1  For  the  Biblical  reference  see  Exodus,  chaps,  xiii.  and  xiv. 

2  "You  shall  understand,"  wrote  Winslow,  "  that  in  this  little  time  that  a  few  of  us 
have  been  here,  we  have  built  seven  dwelling-houses  and  four  for  the  use  of  the  planta- 
tion."—Letter  to  a  friend  in  England  (December  11,  1621). 


MILES  STANDISH.  25 

Sitting  alone,  and  absorbed  in  the  martial  pages  of  Cassar. 

Fighting  some  great  campaign  in  Hainault '  or  Brabant '  or 
Flanders. 

'*  Long  have  you  been  on  your  errand,"  he  said  with  a  cheery 
demeanor, 

Even  as  one  who  is  waiting  an  answer,  and  fears  not  the 
issue.  60 

*'  Not  far  off  is  the  house,  although  the  woods  are  between  us; 

But  you  have  lingered  so  long,  that  while  you  were  going  and 
coming 

I  have  fought  ten  battles  and  sacked  and  demolished  a  city. 

Come,  sit  down,  and  in  order  relate  to  me  all  that  has  hap- 
pened." 

Then  John  Alden  spake,  and  related  the  wondrous  adven- 
ture 65 

From  beginning  to  end,  minutely,  just  as  it  happened; 

How  he  had  seen  Priscilla,  and  how  he  had  sped  in  his  court- 
ship. 

Only  smoothing  a  little,  and  softening  down  her  refusal. 

But  when  he  came  at  length  to  the  words  Priscilla  had  spoken, 

Words  so  tender  and  cruel,  "  Why  don't  you  speak  for  your- 
self, John?"  70 

Up  leaped  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  and  stamped  on  the  floor, 
till  his  armor  ' 

Clanged  on  the  wall,  where  it  hung,  with  a  sound  of  sinister 
omen. 

All  his  pent-up  wrath  burst  forth  in  a  sudden  explosion. 

E'en  as  a  hand-granade,^  that  scatters  destruction  round  it. 

1  A  connty  of  the  Netherlands,  united  in  1483  to  the  dominions  of  Philip  the  Good  of 
Burgundy. 

2  A  county  and  duchy  of  the  Netherlands,  to  wliich  Philip  the  Good  succeeded  in 
1430. 

'  A  small  hollow  ball  of  iron  or  glass  filled  with  powder  or  other  explosives.  It  was 
thrown  from  the  hand  into  the  trenches  or  head  of  a  sap,  or  upon  besiegers  mounting  a 
breach. 


26  THE   COURTSHIP   OF 

Wildly  he  shouted,  and  loud:  "John  Alden!  you  have  be- 
trayed me!  75 

Me,  Miles  Standish,  your  friend  !  have  supplanted,  defrauded, 
betrayed  me! 

One  of  my  ancestors  ran  his  sword  through  the  heart  of  Wat 
Tyler;' 

Who  shall  prevent  me  from  running  my  own  through  the 
heart  of  a  traitor  ? 

Yours  is  the  greater  treason,  for  yours  is  a  treason  to  friend- 
ship! 

You,  who  lived  under  my  roof,  whom  I  cherished  and  loved 
as  a  brother;  80 

You,  who  have  fed  at  my  board,  and  drunk  at  my  cup,  to 
whose  keeping 

I  have  intrusted  my  honor,  my  thoughts  the  most  sacred  and 
secret, — 

You  too,  Brutus!*  ah,  woe  to  the  name  of  friendship  here- 
after ! 

Brutus  was  Caesar's  friend,  and  you  were  mine,  but  hence- 
forward 

Let  there  be  nothing  between  us  save  war,  and  implacable 
hatred!''  85 

So  spake  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  and  strode  about  in  the 
chamber. 
Chafing  and  choking  with  rage;  like  cords  were  the  veins  on 

his  temples. 
But  in  the  midst  of  his  anger  a  man  appeared  at  the  doorway. 
Bringing  in  uttermost  haste  a  message  of  urgent  importance, 
liumors  of  danger  and  war  and  hostile  incursions  of  Indians !  90  , 
Straightway  the  Captain  paused,  and,  without  further  ques- 
tion or  parley, 

'This  incident  is  recorded  in  Sir  John  Froissart's  Chronicles  of  England,  France, 
and  Spain,  chap.  Ixxvi.,  p.  '287. 

2  Et  tu  Brute!  were  the  reproachful  words  of  Csesarwhenhe  recognized  his  old  friend 
Brutus  among  his  assassins. 


MILES   STAKDISH.  27 

Took  from  the  nail  on  the  wall  his  sword  with  its  scabbard  of 
iron, 

Buckled  the  belt  round  his  waist,  and,  frowning  fiercely,  de- 
parted. 

Alden  was  left  alone.     He  heard  the  clank  of  the  scabbard 

Growing  fainter  and  fainter,  and  dying  away  in  the  distance.  95 

Then  he  arose  from  his  seat,  and  looked  forth  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

Felt  the  cool  air  blow  on  his  cheek,  that  was  hot  with  the 
insult. 

Lifted  his  eyes  to  the  heavens,  and,  folding  his  hands  as  in 
childhood. 

Prayed  in  the  silence  of  night  to  the  Father  who  seeth  in 
secret.  ^ 

Meanwhile  the  choleric  Captain  strode  wrathful  away  to  the 
council,  100 

Found  it  already  assembled,  impatiently  waiting  his  coming; 

Men  in  the  middle  of  life,  austere  and  grave  in  deport- 
ment. 

Only  one  of  them  old,  the  hill  that  was  nearest  to  heaven. 

Covered  with  snow,  but  erect,  the  excellent  Elder"  of  Plym- 
outh. 

God  had  sifted  three  kingdoms  to  find  the  wheat  for  this 
planting,'  105 

Then  had  sifted  the  wheat,  as  the  living  seed  of  a  nation; 

So  say  the  chronicles  old,  and  such  is  the  faith  of  the  people ! 

Near  them  was  standing  an  Indian,  in  attitude  stern  and 
defiant, 

»  Matthew,  vi.,  4. 

2  William  Brewster  (1560?-1644),  a  ruling  eldter  in  the  Plymouth  Congregation,  who 
also  officiated  as  teaching  elder  in  the  absence  of  the  pastor,  John  Robinson,  who  re- 
mained in  Leyden.  He  is  said  to  have  studied  at  Cambridge  University,  and  was  in  the 
servicb  of  William  Davison,  Ambassador  to  the  Low  Countries. 

"  "  God  sifted  a  whole  nation,''  said  Stoughton,  '•'  that  he  might  send  a  choice  grain 
over  into  this  wilderness."— Sermon  on  Election  (1668). 


28  THE  COURTSHIP  OF 

Naked  down  to  the  waist,  and  grim  and  ferocious  in  aspect; 

While  on  the  table  before  them  was  lying  unopened  a  Bible, '  110 

Ponderous,  bound  in  leather,  brass-studded,  printed  in  Hol- 
land, 

And  beside  it  outstretched  the   skin   of  a  rattlesnake  glit- 
tered. 

Filled,  like  a  quiver,  with  arrows:  a  signal  and  challenge  of 
warfare,'* 

Brought  by  the  Indian,  and  speaking  with  arrowy  tongues  of 
defiance. 

This  Miles  Standish  beheld,  as  he  entered,  and  heard  them 
debating  115 

What  were  an  answer  befitting  the  hostile  message  and  men- 
ace. 

Talking  of  this  and  of  that,  contriving,  suggesting,  object- 
ing; 

One  voice  only  for  peace,  and  that  the  voice  of  the  Elder, 

Judging  it  wise  and  well  that  some  at  least  were  converted,^ 

Kather  than  any  were  slain,  for  this  was  but  Christian  be- 
havior !  120 

Then  out  spake  Miles  Standish,  the  stalwart  Captain  of  Plym- 
outh, 

Muttering  deep  in  his  throat,  for  his  voice  was  husky  with 
anger, 

"  What!  do  you  mean  to  make  war  with  milk  and  the  water 
of  roses  ? 

Is  it  to  shoot  red  squirrels  you  have  your  howitzer  planted 

1  The  favorite  version  of  the  Scriptures  used  by  the  Puritans  was  the  Geneva  Bible 
(1557),  which  was  made  in  Switzerland  on  account  of  persecution  by  Queen  Mary.  It  is 
also  known  as  the  Breeches  Bible,  the  word  breeches  being  used  instead  of  aprons  in 
Cienesis  iii.,  7.    It  was  published  at  least  once  at  Amsterdam. 

2  In  January,  1622,  Canonicus,  a  Narragansett  chief,  actually  sent  a  rattlesnake  skin 
filled  with  arrows  as  a  challenge  to  Governor  Bradford,  who  returned  the  skin  filled  with 
powder  and  ball  by  the  messenger,  Tisquantum. 

3  After  the  Pilgrims'  first  fight  with  the  savages,  John  Robinson,  the  pastor,  ex- 
claimed: "Oh,  how  happy  a  thing  had  it  been,  if  you  had  converted  some  before  you 
had  killed  any  I " 


MILES   STANDISH.  29 

There  on  the  roof  of  the  church,  or  is  it  to  shoot  red  devils  ?  125 

Truly  the  only  tongue  that  is  understood  by  a  savage 

Must  be  the  tongue  of  fire  that  speaks  from  the  mouth  of  the 

cannon!  " 
Thereupon  answered  and  said  the  excellent  Elder  of  Plymouth,- 
Somewhat  amazed  and  alarmed  at  this  irreverent  language : 
*'  !N"ot  so  thought  Saint  Paul,  nor  yet  the  other  Apostles;   130 
Not  from  the  cannon's  mouth  were  the  tongues  of  fire^  they 

spake  with!  '^ 
But  unheeded  fell  this  mild  rebuke  on  the  Captain, 
Who  had  advanced  to  the  table,  and  thus  continued  discoursing : 
"  Leave  this  matter  to  me,  for  to  me  by  right  it  pertaineth. 
War  is  a  terrible  trade;  but  in  the  cause  that  is  righteous,  135 
Sweet  is  the  smell  of  powder;  and  thus  I  answer  the  chal- 
lenge! " 

Then  from  the  rattlesnake's  skin,  with  a  sudden,  contempt- 
uous gesture. 
Jerking  the  Indian  arrows,  he  filled  it  with  powder  and  bullets 
Full  to  the  very  jaws,  and  handed  it  back  to  the  savage. 
Saying,  in  thundering  tones:  ''Here,  take  it!  this  is  your 
answer!"  140 

Silently  out  of  the  room  then  glided  the  glistening  savage. 
Bearing  the  serpent's  skin,  and  seeming  himself  like  a  serpent. 
Winding  his  sinuous  way  in  the  dark  to  the  depths  of  the 
forest. 

V. 

THE    SAILIN^G    OF   THE    "MAYFLOWER." 

Just  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  as  the  mists  uprose  from  the 

meadows. 
There  was  a  stir  and  a  sound  in  the  slumbering  village  of 

Plymouth ; 

1  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  ii.  3,  and  Romans,  xii.  18. 


30  THE  COUETSHIP   OF 

Clanging  and  clicking  of  arms,  and  the  order  imperative, 
^'Forward!" 

Given  in  tone  suppressed,  a  tramp  of  feet,  and  then  silence. 

Figures  ten,  in  the  mist,  marched  slowly  out  of  the  village.   5 

Standish  the  stalwart  it  was,  with  eight  of  his  valorous  army. 

Led  by  their  Indian  guide,  by  Hobomok,  friend  of  the  white 
men, 

Northward  marching  to  quell  the  sudden  revolt  of  the  savage. 

Giants  they  seemed  in  the  mist,  or  the  mighty  men  of  King 
David-/ 

Giants  in  heart  they  were,  who  believed  in  God  and  the 
Bible,—  10 

Ay,  who  believed  in  the  smiting  of  Midianites'*  and  Philis- 
tines.' 

Over  them  gleamed  far  off  the  crimson  banners  of  morning; 

Under  them  loud  on  the  sands,  the  serried  billows,  advancing, 

Fired  along  the  line,  and  in  regular  order  retreated. 

Many  a  mile  had  they  marched,  when  at  length  the  village 

of  Plymouth  15 

Woke  from  its  sleep,  and  arose,  intent  on  its  manifold  labors. 
Sweet  was  the  air  and  soft;  and  slowly  the  smoke  from  the 

chimneys 
Kose  over  roofs  of  thatch,  and  pointed  steadily  eastward; 
Men  came  forth  from  the  doors,  and  paused  and  talked  of  the 

Aveather, 
Said  that  the  wind  had  changed,  and  was  blowing  fair  for  the 

''Mayflower";  20 

J  II.  Samuel,  xxiii. 

2  An  Arabian  tribe  settled  in  the  northern  part  of  the  Syro- Arabian  desert.  They  were 
descendants  of  Abraham  and  Ketnrah.  Mosch  destroyed  their  cities,  and  Gideon  de- 
feated them  when  they  crossed  the  Jordan  to  ravage  the  country.  Later  they  disappeared 
almost  entirely  from  history. 

3  A  nation  supposed  to  l)e  of  Semitic  origin.  Professor  Sayce  thinks  they  were 
established  by  Egyptian  kings  as  a  garrison  on  the  southern  border  of  Palestine.  They 
were  frequently  at  war  with  the  Hel)rews  in  the  reigns  of  Saul  and  David. 


MILES   STANDISH.  31 

Talked  of  their  Captain's  departure^  and  all  the  dangers  that 
menaced, 

He  being  gone,  the  town,  and  what  should  be  done  in  his 
absence. 

Merrily  sang  the  birds,  and  the  tender  voices  of  women 

Consecrated  with  hymns  the  common  cares  of  the  house- 
hold. 

Out  of  the  sea  rose  the  sun,  and  the  billows  rejoiced  at  his 
coming ;  25 

Beautiful  were  his  feet  on  the  purple  tops  of  the  mountains; 

Beautiful  on  the  sails  of  the  '"  Mayflower  ^'  riding  at  anchor. 

Battered  and  blackened  and  worn  by  all  the  storms  of  the 
winter. 

Loosely  against  her  masts  was  hanging  and  flapping  her  can- 
vas. 

Rent  by  so  many  gales,  and  patched  by  the  hands  of  the 
sailors,  30 

Suddenly  from  her  side,  as  the  sun  rose  over  the  ocean. 

Darted  a  puff  of  smoke,  and  floated  seaward;  anon  rang 

Loud  over  field  and  forest  the  cannon's  roar,  and  the  echoes 

Heard  and  repeated  the  sound,  the  signal-gun  of  depart- 
ure ! 

Ah !  but  with  louder  echoes  replied  the  hearts  of  the  people !  35 

Meekly,  in  voices  subdued,  the  chapter  was  read  from  the 
Bible, 

Meekly  the  prayer  was  begun,  but  ended  in  fervent  en- 
treaty ! 

Then  from  their  houses  in  haste  came  forth  the  Pilgrims 
of  Plymouth, 

Men  and  women  and  children,  all  hurrying  down  to  the  sea- 
shore. 

Eager,  with  tearful  eyes,  to  say  farewell  to  the  *^  May- 
flower," 40 

Homeward  bound  o'er  the  sea,  and  leaving  them  here  in  the 
desert. 


32  THE    COURTSHIP   OF 

Foremost  among  them  was  Alden.  All  night  he  had  lain 
without  slumber. 

Turning  and  tossing  about  in  the  heat  and  unrest  of  his  fever. 

He  had  beheld  Miles  Standish,  who  came  back  late  from  the 
council. 

Stalking  into  the  room,  and  heard  him  mutter  and  murmur,  45 

Sometimes  it  seemed  a  prayer,  and  sometimes  it  sounded  like 
swearing. 

Once  he  had  come  to  the  bed,  and  stood  there  a  moment  in 
silence; 

Then  he  had  turned  away,  and  said:  "  I  will  not  awake  him; 

Let  him  sleep  on,  it  is  best;  for  what  is  the  use  of  more  talk- 
ing!" 

Then  he  extinguished  the  light,  and  threw  himself  down  on 
his  pallet,  50 

Dressed  as  he  was,  and  ready  to  start  at  the  break  of  the 
morning, — 

Covered  himself  with  the  cloak  he  had  worn  in  his  campaigns 
in  Flanders, — 

Slept  as  a  soldier  sleeps  in  his  bivouac,^  ready  for  action. 

But  with  the  dawn  he  arose;  in  the  twilight  Alden  beheld 
him 

Put  on  his  corselet  of  steel,  and  all  the  rest  of  his  armor,      55 

Buckle  about  his  waist  his  trusty  blade  of  Damascus, 

Take  from  the  corner  his  musket,  and  so  stride  out  of  the 
chamber. 

Often  the  heart  of  the  youth  had  burned  and  yearned  to  em- 
brace him. 

Often  his  lips  had  essayed  to  speak,  imploring  for  pardon; 

1  Pronounced  blv'-wSk :  the  night-watch  of  an  army  when  In  danger  of  surprise,  or  an 
encampment  for  the  night  without  tents  or  shelter.  Of.  O'Hara's  beautiful  use  of  the 
word  in  his  poem  in  memory  of  the  Kentuckians  who  fell  at  Buena  Vista: 

"  On  Fame's  eternal  camping-ground, 
Their  silent  tents  are  spread, 
And  Glory  guards,  with  solemn  round. 
The  bivouac  of  the  dead." 


MILES  STANDISH.  33 

All  the  old  friendshif)  came  back  with  its  tender  and  grateful 
emotions;  60 

But  his  pride  overmastered  the  nobler  nature  within  him, — 

Pride,  and  the  sense  of  his  wrong,  and  the  burning  fire  of  the 
insult. 

So  he  beheld  his  friend  departing  in  anger,  but  spake  not. 

Saw  him  go  forth  to  danger,  perhaps  to  death,  and  he  spake  not! 

Then  he  arose  from  his  bed,  and  heard  Avhat  the  people  were 
saying,  65 

Joined  in  the  talk  at  the  door,  with  Stephen  and  Richard  and 
Gilbert,^ 

Joined  in  the  morning  prayer,  and  in  the  reading  of  Scrip- 
ture, 

And,  with  the  others,  in  haste  went  hurrying  down  to  the 
seashore, 

Down  to  the  Plymouth  Rock,  that  had  been  to  their  feet  as 
a  doorstep 

Into  a  world  unknown, — the  corner-stone  of  a  nation!  70 

There  with  his  boat  was  the  Master,'  already  a  little  im- 
patient 

Lest  he  should  lose  the  tide,  or  the  wind  might  shift  to  the 
eastward. 

Square-built,  hearty,  and  strong,  with  an  odor  of  ocean  about 
him. 

Speaking  with  this  one  and  that,  and  cramming  letters  and 
parcels 

Into  his  pockets  capacious,  and  messages  mingled  together  75 

Into  his  narrow  brain,  till  at  last  he  was  wholly  bewildered. 

Nearer  the  boat  stood  Alden,  with  one  foot  placed  on  the  gun- 
wale, 

*  The  actual  names  of  three  of   the  "Mayflower"  passengers   surviving  in  1621: 
Stephen  Hopkins,  Richard  Warren,  and  Gilbert  Winslow, 

2  The  title,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  of  the  commander  of  a  merchant  vessel.    Cf. 
Tempest,  I.  i. 
8 


34  THE   COUKTSHIP  OF 

One  still  firm  on  the  rock,  and  talking  at  times  with  the 
sailors. 

Seated  erect  on  the  thwarts,  all  ready  and  eager  for  start- 
ing. 

He  too  was  eager  to  go,  and  thus  put  an  end  to  his  anguish,  80 

Thinking  to  fly  from  despair,  that  swifter  than  keel  is  or 
canvas. 

Thinking  to  drown  in  the  sea  the  ghost  that  would  rise  and 
pursue  him. 

But  as  he  gazed  on  the  crowd,  he  beheld  the  form  of  Priscilla 

Standing  dejected  among  them,  unconscious  of  all  that  was 
passing. 

Fixed  were  her  eyes  upon  his,  as  if  she  divined  his  inten- 
tion, 85 

Fixed  with  a  look  so  sad,  so  reproachful,  imploring,  and 
patient, 

That  with  a  sudden  revulsion  his  heart  recoiled  from  its  pur- 
pose. 

As  from  the  verge  of  a  crag,  where  one  step  more  is  destruc- 
tion. 

Strange  is  the  heart  of  man,  with  its  quick,  mysterious  in- 
stincts ! 

Strange  is  the  life  of  man,  and  fatal  or  fated  are  moments,    90 

Whereupon  turn,  as  on  hinges,  the  gates  of  the  wall  adaman- 
tine! 

^'  Here  I  remain!  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  looked  at  the  heavens 
above  him, 

Thanking  the  Lord  whose  breath  had  scattered  the  mist  and 
the  madness. 

Wherein,  blind  and  lost,  to  death  he  was  staggering  head- 
long. 

*' Yonder  snow-white  cloud,  that  floats  in  the  ether  above 
me,  95 

Seems  like  a  hand  that  is  pointing  and  beckoning  over  the 
ocean. 


Miles  standish.  85 

There  is  another  hand,  that  is  not  so  spectral  and  ghost-like. 

Holding  me,  drawing  me  back,  and  clasping  mine  for  protec- 
tion. 

Float,  0  hand  of  cloud,  and  vanish  away  in  the  ether! 

Eoll  thyself  up  like  a  fist,  to  threaten  and  daunt  me;  I  heed 
not  100 

Either  your  warning  or  menace,  or  any  omen  of  evil ! 

There  is  no  land  so  sacred,  no  air  so  pure  and  so  wholesome. 

As  is  the  air  she  breathes,  and  the  soil  that  is  pressed  by  her 
footsteps. 

Here  for  her  sake  will  I  stay,  and  like  an  invisible  pres- 
ence 

Hover  around  her  forever,  protecting,  supporting  her  weak- 
ness; 105 

Yes !  as  my  foot  was  the  first  that  stepped  on  this  rock  at  the 
landing. 

So,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  shall  it  be  the  last  at  the  leav- 
ing!" 

Meanwhile  the  Master  alert,  but  with  dignified  air  and  im- 
portant. 
Scanning  with  watchful  eye  the  tide  and  the  wind  and  the 

weather, 
Walked  about  on  the  sands,  and  the  people  crowded  around 
him  110 

Saying  a  few  last  words,  and  enforcing  his  careful  remem- 
brance. 
Then,  taking  each  by  the  hand,  as  if  he  were  grasping  a  tiller, 
Into  the  boat  he  sprang,  and  in  haste  shoved  off  to  his  vessel. 
Glad  in  his  heart  to  get  rid  of  all  this  worry  and  flurry. 
Glad   to   be  gone   from  a  land   of    sand    and   sickness   and 
sorrow,  115 

Short  allowance  of  victual,  and  plenty  of  nothing  but  Grospel! 
Lost  in  the  sound  of  the  oars  was  the  last  farewell  of  the 
Pilgrims. 


36  THE   COURTSHIP  OF 

0  strong  hearts  and  true!  not  one  went  back  in  the  "May- 
flower''! 

No,  not  one  looked  back,  who  had  set  his  hand  to  this  plough- 
ing! 

Soon  were  heard  on  board  the  shouts  and  songs  of  the 
sailors  120 

Heaving  the  windlass  round,  and  hoisting  the  ponderous 
anchor. 

Then  the  yards  were  braced,  and  all  sails  set  to  the  west  wind. 

Blowing  steady  and  strong;  and  the  "Mayflower"  sailed 
from  the  harbor. 

Bounded  the  point  of  the  Gurnet,'  and  leaving  far  to  the 
southward 

Island  and  cape  of  sand,  and  the  Field  of  the  First  Encoun- 
ter,' 125 

Took  the  wind  on  her  quarter,  and  stood  for  the  open  Atlan- 
tic, 

Borne  on  the  send  of  the  sea,  and  the  swelling  hearts  of  the 
Pilgrims. 

Long  in  silence  they  watched  the  receding  sail  of  the  vessel. 
Much  endeared  to  them  all,  as  something  living  and  hu- 
man; 
Then,  as  if  filled  with  the  spirit,  and  wrapt  in  a  vision  pro- 
phetic, 130 
Baring  his  hoary  head,  the  excellent  Elder  of  Plymouth 
Said,  "Let  us  pray!"   and  they  prayed,  and  thanked  the 

Lord  and  took  courage.^ 
Mournfully  sobbed  the  waves  at  the  base  of  the  rock,  and 
above  them 

J  The  headland  at  the  entrance  to  Plymouth  Harbor,  seven  miles  from  Marshfield. 

'  Before  the  Pilgrims  all  landed,  a  party  was  sent  ashore  in  a  shallop  to  explore  the 
country,  and  here  they  first  encountered  a  body  of  Indians  on  Dec.  8,  1620.  See  Young's 
Chronicles,  p.  159. 

'  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  xxviii.  15. 


MILES   STANDISH.  37 

Bowed  and  whispered  the  wheat  on  the  hill  of  death,  and 

their  kindred 
Seemed  to  awake  in  their  graves,  and  to  join  in  the  prayer 

that  they  uttered.  135 

Sun-illumined  and  white,  on  the  eastern  verge  of  the  ocean 
Gleamed  the  departing  sail,  like  a  marble  slab  in  a  graveyard; 
Buried  beneath  it  lay  forever  all  hope  of  escaping. 
Lo !  as  they  turned  to  depart,  they  saw  the  form  of  an  Indian, 
Watching  them  from  the  hill ;  but  while  they  spake  with  each 

other,  140 

Pointing  with  outstretched  hands,  and  saying,  "Look!^'  he 

had  vanished. 
So  they  returned  to  their  homes;  but  Alden  lingered  a  little, 
Musing  alone  on  the  shore,  and  watching  the  wash  of  the 

billows 
Round  the  base  of  the  rock,  and  the  sparkle  and  flash  of  the 

sunshine. 
Like  the  spirit  of  God,  moving  visibly  over  the  waters/      145 

VI. 

PEISCILLA. 

^  Thus  for  a  while  he  stood,  and  mused  by  the  shore  of  the 

ocean. 
Thinking  of  many  things,  and  most  of  all  of  Priscilla; 
And  as  if  thought  had  the  power  to  draw  to  itself,  like  the 

loadstone. 
Whatsoever  it  touches,  by  subtle  laws  of  its  nature, 
Lo!    as   he   turned   to   depart,  Priscilla  was  standing  beside 

him.  5 

"Are  you  so  much  offended,  you  will  not  speak  to  me?" 
said  she. 

•  Genesis,  i.  3. 


38  THE   COURTSHIP  OF 

*'Am  I  SO  mucli  to  blame,  that  yesterday,  when  you  were 
pleading 

Warmly  the  cause  of  another,  my  heart,  impulsive  and  way- 
ward. 

Pleaded  your  own,  and  spake  out,  forgetful  perhaps  of  deco- 
rum? 

Certainly  you  can  forgive  me  for  speaking  so  frankly,  for  say- 
ing 10 

What  I  ought  not  to  have  said,  yet  now  I  can  never  unsay  it; 

For  there  are  moments  in  life,  when  the  heart  is  so  full  of 
emotion. 

That  if  by  chance  it  be  shaken,  or  into  its  depths  like  a  pebble 

Drops  some  careless  word,  it  overflows,  and  its  secret. 

Spilt  on  the  ground  like  water,  can  never  be  gathered  to- 
gether. 15 

Yesterday  I  was  shocked,  when  I  heard  you  speak  of  Miles 
Standish, 

Praising  his  virtues,  transforming  his  very  defects  into  vir- 
tues. 

Praising  his  courage  and  strength,  and  even  his  fighting  in 
Flanders, 

As   if   by    fighting   alone   you    could   win   the    heart   of   a 
woman, 

Quite  overlooking  yourself   and  the   rest,  in   exalting  your 
hero.  20 

Therefore  I  spake  as  I  did,  by  an  irresistible  impulse. 

You  will  forgive  me,  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  the  friendship 
between  us. 

Which  is  too  true  and  too  sacred  to  be  so  easily  broken! '' 

Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  the  scholar,  the  friend  of 
Miles  Standish: 

"  I  was  not  angry  with  you,  with  myself  alone  I  was  angry,  25 

Seeing  how  badly  I  managed  the  matter  I  had  in  my  keeping.'' 

**No!^'    interrupted  the   maiden,   with  answer  prompt  and 
decisive; 


MILES   STANDISH.  39 

"No;  you  were  angry  with  me,  for  speaking  so  frankly  and 

freely. 
It  was  wrong,  I  acknowledge;  for  it  is  the  fate  of  a  woman 
Long  to  be  patient  and  silent,  to  wait  like  a  ghost  that  is 

speechless,  30 

Till  some  questioning  voice  dissolves  the  spell  of  its  silence. 
Hence  is  the  inner  life  of  so  many  suffering  women 
Sunless  and  silent  and  deep,  like  subterranean  rivers ' 
Kunning  through  caverns  of  darkness,  unheard,  unseen,  and 

unfruitful. 
Chafing  their  channels  of  stone,  with  endless  and  profitless 

murmurs.'^  35 

Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  the  young  man,  the  lover 

of  women : 
"  Heaven   forbid   it,   Priscilla  ;  and  truly  they  seem   to  me 

always 
More  like  the  beautiful  rivers'  that  watered  the  garden  of 

Eden, 
More  like  the  river  Euphrates,  through  deserts  of  Havilah 

flowing. 
Filling  the  land  with  delight,  and  memories  sweet  of  the  gar- 
den!" 40 
*'Ah,    by   these   words,   I   can  see,"  again   interrupted  the 

maiden, 
"  How  very  little  you  prize  me,  or  care  for  what  I  am  saying. 
When  from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  in  pain  and  with  secret 

misgiving. 
Frankly  I  speak  to  you,  asking  for  sympathy  only  and  kindness. 
Straightway  you  take  up  my  words,  that  are  plain  and  direct 

and  in  earnest,  45 

*  Longfellow  may  have  had  in  mind  the-  classic  Alpheus,  a  river  in  the  Peloponnesus, 
which  flowed  for  some  distance  underground.  The  story  of  the  pursuit  of  the  nymph 
Arethusa  by  the  river-god  is  told  in  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  v.  10,  and  in  Shelley's  Are- 
thusa.    Cf.  also  Coleridge's  Vision  of  Kuhla  Khan. 

2  The  Pison,  "which  compasseth  the  whole  land  of  Havilah,"  thf  (jihon,  the  Hid- 
dekel,  and  the  Euphrates,    Genesis,  ii.  11-13. 


40  THE    COURTSHIP   OF 

Turn  them  away  from  their  meaning,  and  answer  with  flatter- 
ing phrases. 
This  is  not  right,  is  not  just,  is  not  true  to  the  best  that  is  in  you; 
For  I  know  and  esteem  you,  and  feel  that  your  nature  is  noble. 
Lifting  mine  up  to  a  higher,  a  more  ethereal  level. 
Therefore  I  value  your  friendship,  and  feel  it  perhaps  the 
more  keenly  50 

If  you  say  aught  that  implies  I  am  only  as  one  among  many, 
If  you  make  use  of  those  common  and  complimentary  phrases 
Most  men  think  so  fine,  in  dealing  and  speaking  with  women. 
But  which  women  reject  as  insipid,  if  not  as  insulting." 

Mute  and  amazed  was  Alden;  and  listened  and  looked  at 

Priscilla,  55 

Thinking  he  never  had  seen  her  more  fair,  more  divine  in  her 

beauty. 
He  who  but  yesterday  pleaded  so  glibly  the  cause  of  another. 
Stood  there  embarrassed  and  silent,  and  seeking  in  vain  for  an 

answer. 
So  the  maiden  went  on,  and  little  divined  or  imagined 
What  was  at  work  in  his  heart,  that  made  him  so  awkward 

and  speechless.  60 

"  Let  us,  then,  be  what  we  are,  and  speak  what  we  think,  and 

in  all  things 
Keep  ourselves  loyal  to  truth,  and  the  sacred  professions  of 

friendship. 
It  is  no  secret  I  tell  you,  nor  am  I  ashamed  to  declare  it: 
I  have  liked  to  be  with  you,  to  see  you,  to  speak  with  you 

always. 
So  I  was  hurt  at  your  words,  and  a  little  affronted  to  hear 

you  65 

Urge  me  to  marry  your  friend,  though  he  were  the  Captain 

Miles  Standish. 
For  I  must  tell  you  the  truth:  much  more  to  me  is  your 

friendship 


MILES  STANDISH.  41 

Than  all  the  love  he  could  give,  were  he  twice  the  hero  you 
think  him.'^ 

Then  she  extended  her  hand,  and  Alden,  who  eagerly  grasped  it. 

Felt  all  the  wounds  in  his  heart,  that  were  aching  and  bleed- 
ing so  sorely,  70 

Healed  by  the  touch  of  that  hand,  and  he  said,  with  a  voice 
full  of  feeling: 

"Yes,  we  must  ever  be  friends;  and  of  all  who  offer  you 
friendship 

Let  me  be  ever  the  first,  the  truest,  the  nearest  and  dearest!  " 

Casting  a  farewell  look  at  the  glimmering  sail  of  the  "  May- 
flower ^' 

Distant,  but  still  in  sight,  and  sinking  below  the  horizon,    75 

Homeward  together  they  walked,  with  a  strange,  indefinite 
feeling. 

That  all  the  rest  had  departed  and  left  them  alone  in  the 
desert. 

But,  as  they  went  through  the  fields  in  the  blessing  and  smile 
of  the  sunshine. 

Lighter  grew  their  hearts,  and  Priscilla  said  very  archly: 

"Now  that  our  terrible  Captain  has  gone  in  pursuit  of  the 
Indians,  80 

Where  he  is  happier  far  than  he  would  be  commanding  a 
household. 

You  may  speak  boldly,  and  tell  me  of  all  that  happened  be- 
tween you. 

When  you  returned  last  night,  and  said  how  ungrateful  you 
found  me/' 

Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  and  told  her  the  whole  of 
the  story, — 

Told  her  his  own  despair,  and  the  direful  wrath '  of  Miles 
Standish.  85 

1  An  echo  from  the  opening  lines  of  the  M^dt^  where  Homer  "sings  tli^  clireful  wrath 
of  Pelides." 


42  THE  COUBTSHIP  OP 

Whereat  the  maiden  smiled,  and  said  between  laughing  and 
earnest, 

*'  He  is  a  little  chimney,  and  heated  hot  in  a  moment!  '* 

But  as  he  gently  rebuked  her,  and  told  her  how  he  had  suf- 
fered,— 

How  he  had  even  determined  to  sail  that  day  in  the  "  May- 
flower,^' 

And  had  remained  for  her  sake,  on  hearing  the  dangers  that 
threatened, —  90 

All  her  manner  was  changed,  and  she  said  with  a  faltering 
accent, 

"  Truly  I  thank  you  for  this:  how  good  you  have  been  to  me 
always!  " 

Thus,  as  a  pilgrim  devout,  who  toward  Jerusalem  journeys. 
Taking  three  steps  in  advance,  and  one  reluctantly  backward. 
Urged  by  importunate  zeal,  and  withheld  by  pangs  of  con- 
trition; 95 
Slowly  but  steadily  onward,  receding  yet  ever  advancing, 
Journeyed  this  Puritan  youth  to  the  Holy  Land  of  his  long- 
ings,' 
Urged  by  the  fervor  of  love,  and  withheld  by  remorseful  mis- 
givings. 

VII. 

THE    MARCH   OF   MILES   STANDISH. 

Meanwhile  the  stalwart  Miles  Standish  was  marching  stead- 
ily northward. 

Winding  through  forest  and  swamp,  and  along  the  trend  of 
the  seashore, 

1  Pilgrimages  from  western  Europe  to  Jerusalem  and  otlier  sacred  spots  were  especially 
common  during  the  middle  ages.  The  pilgrim  went  at  his  own  charges  and  under  a  vow 
of  ascetic  observances  ;  the  palmer,  however,  remained  wilfully  poor,  had  no  home,  and 
visited  all  shrines.  The  abuses  which  grew  out  of  the  custom  are  vividly  portrayed  in 
Chaucer's  Canterbury  Tales. 


MILES   STANDISH.  43 

All  day  long,  with  hardly  a  halt,  the  fire  of  his  anger 
Burning  and  crackling  within,  and  the  sulphurous  odor  of 

powder 
Seeming  more  sweet  to  his  nostrils  than  all  the  scents  of  the 

forest.  5 

Silent  and  moody  he  went,and  much  he  revolved  his  discomfort; 
He  who  was  used  to  success,  and  to  easy  victories  always. 
Thus  to  be  flouted,  rejected,  and  laughed  to  scorn  by  a  maiden. 
Thus  to  be  mocked  and  betrayed  by  the  friend  whom  most  he 

had  trusted! 
Ah!  'twas  too  much  to  be  borne,  and  he  fretted  and  chafed 

in  his  armor!  10 

"  I  alone  am  to  blame,"  he  muttered,  "for  mine  was  the 
folly. 

What  has  a  rough  old  soldier,  grown  grim  and  gray  in  the 
harness. 

Used  to  the  camp  and  its  Avays,  to  do  with  the  wooing  of 
maidens  ? 

'Twas  but  a  dream, — let  it  pass, — let  it  vanish  like  so  many 
others! 

What  I  thought  was  a  flower,  is  only  a  weed,  and  is  worth- 
less; 15 

Out  of  my  heart  will  I  pluck  it,  and  throw  it  away,  and  hence- 
forward 

Be  but  a  fighter  of  battles,  a  lover  and  wooer  of  dangers.''  ! 

Thus  he  revolved  in  his  mind  his  sorry  defeat  and  discomfort, 

While  he  was  marching  by  day  or  lying  at  night  in  the  forest. 

Looking  up  at  the  trees  and  the  constellations  beyond 
them.  20 

'-     After  a  three  days'  march  ^  he  came  to  an  Indian  encampment 

»  The  original  of  this  part  of  Longfellow's  narrative  is  found  in  Winslow's  Relation 
of  Standish's  Expedition  against  the  Indians  of  Weymouth,  and  the  breaking  up  of 
Weston's  Colony  at  that  place,  in  3farch,  1623. 


44  THE   COURTSHIP  OF 

Pitclied  on  the  edge  of  a  meadow,  between  the  sea  and  the 
forest; 

AVomen  at  work  by  the  tents,  and  warriors,  horrid  with  war- 
paint. 

Seated  about  a  fire,  and  smoking  and  talking  together; 

Who,  when  they  saw  from  afar  the  sudden  approach  of  the 
white  men,  25 

Saw  the  flash  of  the  sun  on  breastplate  and  sabre  and  mus- 
ket. 

Straightway  leaped  to  their  feet,  and  two,  from  among  them 
advancing, 

Came  to  parley  with  Standish,  and  offer  him  furs  as  a  present; 

Friendship  was  in  their  looks,  but  in  their  hearts  there  was 
hatred^] 

Braves  of  the  tribe  were  these,  and  brothers,  gigantic  in 
stature,  30 

Huge  as  Goliath  of  Gath,^  or  the  terrible  Og,  king  of  Ba- 
shan ;  ^ 

One  was  Pecksuot  named,  and  the  other  was  called  Watta- 
wamat. 

Round  their  necks  were  suspended  their  knives  in  scabbards 
of  wampum,^ 

Two-edged,  trenchant  knives,  with  points  as  sharp  as  a  needle. 

Other  arms  had  they  none,  for  they  were  cunning  and 
crafty.  35 

''Welcome,  English!"  they  said, — these  words  they  had 
learned  from  the  traders 

Touching  at  times  on  the  coast,  to  barter  and  chaffer  for  pel- 
tries. 

Then  in  their  native  tongue  they  began  to  parley  with  Stan- 
dish, 

'  1  Samuel,  xvii.  4-7. 
2  Deuteronomy,  iii.  11. 

'  Strips  of  leather  embroidered  with  shell-beads,  used  as  money,  and  worn  for  orna- 
ments in  strings,  belts,  scabbards,  etc.,  by  the  Indians. 


MILES  STANDISH.  45 

Through  his  guide  and  interpreter,  Hobomok,  friend  of  the 
white  man, 

Begging  for  "blankets  and  knives,  but  mostly  for  muskets  and 
powder,  40 

Kept  by  the  white  man,  they  said,  concealed,  with  the  plague, 
in  his  cellars. 

Ready  to  be  let  loose,  and  destroy  his  brother  the  red  man! 

But  when  Standish  refused,  and  said  he  would  give  them  the 
Bible, 

Suddenly  changing  their  tone,  they  began  to  boast  and  to 
bluster. 

Then  Wattawamat  advanced  with  a  stride  in  front  of  the 
other,  45 

And,  with  a  lofty  demeanor,  thus  vauntingly  spake  to  the 
Captain : 

**  Now  Wattawamat  can  see,  by  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  Captain, 

Angry  is  he  in  his  heart;  but  the  heart  of  the  brave  Watta- 
wamat 

Is  not  afraid  at  the  sight.     He  was  not  born  of  a  woman. 

But  on  a  mountain,  at  night,  from  an  oak-tree  riven  by  light- 
ning, 50 

Forth  he  sprang  at  a  bound,  with  all  his  weapons  about  him. 

Shouting,  ^  Who  is  there  here  to  fight  with  the  brave  Watta- 
wamat ?  '  " 

Then  he  unsheathed  his  knife,  and,  whetting  the  blade  on  his 
left  hand. 

Held  it  aloft  and  displayed  a  woman's  face  on  the  handle. 

Saying,  with  bitter   expression  and   look    of   sinister   mean- 
ing :  55 

**  I  have  another  at  home,  with  the  face  of  a  man  on  the  handle; 

By  and  by  they  shall  marry;  and  there  will  be  plenty  of  chil- 
dren!''* 
* 

^  "Among  the  rest,"  says  Winslow,  "Wituwamat  bragged  of  the  excellency  of  his 
knife.  On  the  end  of  the  handle  there  was  pictured  a  woman's  face  ;  '  but,'  said  he,  'I 
have  another  at  home  wherewith  I  have  killed  both  French  and  English,  and  that  hath  a 


46  THE  COURTSHIP  OF 

Then  stood  Pecksuot  forth,  self -vaunting,  insulting  Miles 
Standish; 

While  with  his  fingers  he  patted  the  knife  that  hung  at  his 
bosom, 

Drawing  it  half  from  its  sheath,  and  plunging  it  back,  as  he 
muttered,  60 

'•'  By  and  by  it  shall  see;  it  shall  eat;  ah,  ha!  but  shall  speak  not! 

This  is  the  mighty  Captain  the  white  men  have  sent  to  de- 
stroy us! 

He  is  a  little  man;  let  him  go  and  work  with  the  women!  " 

Meanwhile  Standish  had  noted   the  faces  and.   figures  of 

Indians 
Peeping  and  creeping  about  from  bush  to  tree  in  the  forest,  65 
Feigning  to  look  for  game,  with  arrows  set  on  their  bow- 
strings. 
Drawing  about  him  still  closer  and  closer  the  net  of  their 

ambush. 
But  undaunted  he  stood,  and  dissembled  and  treated  them 

smoothly; 
So  the  old  chronicles  say,  that  were  writ  in  the  days  of  the 

fathers. 
But  when  he  heard  their  defiance,  the  boast,  the  taunt  and 

the  insult,  70 

All  the  hot  blood  of  his  race,  of  Sir  Hugh  and  of  Thurston 

de  Standish, 
Boiled  and  beat  in  his  heart,  and  swelled  in  the  veins  of  his 

temples. 
Headlong  he  leaped  on  the  boaster,  and,  snatching  his  knife 

from  its  scabbard, 

man's  face  on  it,  and  by  and  by  these  two  must  marry.'  Further,  he  said  of  that  knife 
he  there  had,  Ilinnaim  ?iamen,  hinnaim  michert,  matta  cuts  ;  that  is  to  say,  By  and  by 
it  should  see,  and  by  and  by  it  should  eat,  but  not  speak.  Also  Pecksuot,  being  a  man 
of  greater  stature  than  the  captain,  told  him,  though  he  were  a  great  captain,  yet  he  was 
but  a  little  man  ;  and,  said  he,  though  I  be  no  sachem,  yet  I  am  a  man  of  great  strength 
and  courage."    Wiuslow's  Jielatioa  of  Standish'' s  Expedition. 


MILES   STANDISH.  47 

Plunged  it  into  his  heart,  and,  reeling  backward,  the  savage 
Fell  with  his  face  to  the  sky,  and  a  fiend  like  fierceness  upon 

it.  75 

Straight  there  arose  from  the  forest  the  awful  sound  of  the 

war-whoop, 
And,  like  a  flurry  of  snow  on  the  whistling  wind  of  December, 
Swift  and  sudden  and  keen  came  a  flight  of  feathery  arrows. 
Then  came  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  out  of  the  cloud  came  the 

lightning. 
Out  of  the  lightning  thunder;  and  death  unseen  ran  before 

it.  80 

Frightened   the   savages   fled   for   shelter   in   swamp  and  in 

thicket. 
Hotly  pursued  and  beset;  but  their  sachem,  the  brave  Wat- 

tawamat. 
Fled  not;  he  was  dead.     Unswerving  and  swift  had  a  bullet 
Passed  through  his  brain,  and  he  fell  with  both  hands  clutch- 
ing the  greensward. 
Seeming  in  death  to  hold  back  from  his  foe  the  land  of  his 

fathers.  85 

Thej'e  on  the  flowers  of  the  meadow  the  warriors  lay,  and 

above  them 
Silent,  with  folded  arms,  stood  Hobomok,  friend  of  the  white 

man. 
Smiling  at  length  he  exclaimed  to  the  stalwart  Captain  of 

Plymouth : 
"  Pecksuot  bragged  very  loud,  of  his  courage,   his  strength 

and  his  stature, — 
Mocked  the  great  Captain,  and  called  him  a  little  man;  but  I 

see  now  90 

Big  enough  have  you  been  to  lay  him  speechless  before  you!  "  ^ 

1  "Hobbamock  stood  by  all  this  time  as  a  spectator,"  says  Winslow,  "  and  meddled 
not,  observing  how  our  men  demeaned  themselves  in  this  action.  All  being  here  ended, 
smiling,  he  brake  forth  into  these  speeches  to  the  Captain :    '  Yesterday  Pecksuot, 


48  THE   COURTSHIP  OP 

Thus  the  first  battle  was  fought  and  won  by  the  stalwart 
Miles  Standi sh. 
When  the  tidings  thereof  were  brought  to  the  village  of  Plym- 
outh, 
And  as  a  trophy  of  war  the  head  of  the  brave  Wattawamat ' 
Scowled  from  the  roof  of  the  fort,  which  at  once  was  a  church 
and  a  fortress,  95 

All  who  beheld  it  rejoiced,  and  praised  the  Lord,  and  took 

courage. 
Only  Priscilla  averted  her  face  from  this  spectre  of  terror. 
Thanking  God  in  her  heart  that  she  had  not  married  Miles 

Standi  sh; 
Shrinking,  fearing  almost,  lest,  coming  home  from  his  battles. 
He  should  lay  claim  to  her  hand,  as  the  prize  and  reward  of 
his  valor.  100 

VIII.  ^^ 

THE   SPII^NING   WHEEL. 

MoN"TH  after  month  passed  away,  and-in  autumn  the  ships  of 

the  merchants^ 
Came  with  kindred  and  friends,  with  cattle  and  corn  for  the 

Pilgrims. 
All  in  the  village  was  peace;  the  men  were  intent  on  their 

labors. 
Busy  with  hewing  and  building,  with  garden-plot  and  with 

merestead,^ 

bragging  of  his  own  strength  and  stature,  said,  though  you  were  a  great  captain,  yet  you 
were  but  a  little  man  ;  but  to-day  I  see  you  are  big  enough  to  lay  him  on  the  ground.'  " 

1  "■  Now  was  the  Captain  returned,"  says  Winslow,  "  and  received  with  joy,  the  head 
being  brought  to  the  fort,  and  there  set  up."  The  Pilgrims  were  observing  a  ghastly  cus- 
tom which  they  had  been  familiar  with  in  England,  of  exposing  in  conspicuous  places, 
such  as  London  Bridge  and  Temple  Bar,  the  heads  of  traitors,  highwaymen,  etc.,  as  a 
warning  to  other  criminals. 

2  The  "  Anne  "  and  the  "  Little  James,"  which  arrived  in  August,  1623. 

8  A  homestead  or  bounded  portion  of  land  ;  O.  E.,  tnere,  boundary  ;  stead,  place. 


•      MILES   STANDISH.  49 

Busy  with  breaking  tlie  glebe,  and  mowing  the  grass  in  the 
meadows..  5 

Searching  the  sea  for  its  fish,  and  hunting  the  deer  in  the 
forest. 

All  in  the  village  was  peace;  but  at  times  the  rumor  of  war- 
fare 

Filled  the  air  with  alarm,  and  the  apprehension  of  danger. 

Bravely  the  stalwart  Standish  was  scouring  the  land  with  his 
forces. 

Waxing  valiant  in  fight  and  defeating  the  alien  armies,*       10 

Till  his  name  had  become  a  sound  of  fear  to  the  nations. 

Anger  was  still  in  his  heart,  but  at  times  the  remorse  and  con- 
trition 

Which  in  all  noble  natures  succeed  the  passionate  outbreak. 

Came  like  a  rising  tide,  that  encounters  the  rush  of  a  river. 

Staying  its  current  a  while,  but  making  it  bitter  and  brack- 
ish. 15 

Meanwhile  Alden  at  "home  had  built  him  a  new  habitation,' 

Solid,  substantial,  of  timber  rough-hewn  from  the  firs  of  the 
forest. 

Wooden-barred  was  the  door,  and  the  roof  was  covered  with 
rushes; 

Latticed  the  windows  were,  and  the  window-panes  were  of 
paper, 

Oiled  to  admit  the  light,  while  wind  and  rain  were  ex- 
cluded. 20 

There  too  he  dug  a  well,  and  around  it  planted  an  orchard: 

Still  may  be  seen  to  this  day  some  trace  of  the  well  and  the 
orchard. 

Close  to  the  house  was  the  stall,  where,  safe  and  secure  from 
annoyance, 

*  Hebrews,  xi.  34. 

2  On  the  present  site  of  Duxbury,  situated  on  the  coast  about  thirty  miles  southeast  of 
Boston.    The  homestead  is  still  owned  by  descendants  of  Alden. 


50  THE   COURTSHIP  OF 

Eagliorn,  the  snow-white  bull,   that  had  fallen   to  Alden's 

allotment 
111  the  division  of  cattle,  might  ruminate  in  the  night-time   25 
Over  the  pastures  he  cropped,  made  fragrant  by  sweet  penny- 
royal. 

Oft  when  his  labor  was  finished,  with  eager  feet  would  the 
dreamer 

Follow  the  pathway  that  ran  through  the  woods  to  the  house 
of  Priscilla, 

Led  by  illusions  romantic  and  subtle  deceptions  of  fancy. 

Pleasure  disguised  as  duty,  and  love  in  the  semblance  of 
friendship.  30 

Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  fashioned  the  walls  of  his 
dwelling; 

Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  delved  in  the  soil  of  his 
garden ; 

Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  read  in  his  Bible  on  Sunday 

Praise  of  the  virtuous  woman,  as  she  is  described  in  the  Prov- 
erbs,'— 

How  the  heart  of  her  husband  doth  safely  trust  in  her 
always,  35 

How  all  the  days  of  her  life  she  will  do  him  good,  and  not 
evil. 

How  she  seeketh  the  wool  and  the  flax  and  worketh  with  glad- 
ness. 

How  she  layeth  her  hand  to  the  spindle  and  holdeth  the  distaff, 

How  she  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for  herself  or  her  household. 

Knowing  her  household  are  clothed  with  the  scarlet  cloth  of 
her  weaving!  40 

So  as  she  sat  at  her  wheel  one  afternoon  in  the  Autumn, 
Alden,  who  opposite  sat,  and  was  watching   her   dexterous 
fingers, 

»  Proverbs,  xxxi  10-81. 


o 


MILES  STANDISH.  51 

As  if  the  thread  she  was  spinning  were  that  of  his  life  and  his 
fortune. 

After  a  pause  in  their  talk,  thus  spake  to  the  sound  of  the 
spindle. 

"Truly,  Priscilla,''  he  said,  '^when  I  see  you  spinning  and 
spinning,  45 

Never  idle  a  moment,  but  thrifty  and  thoughtful  of  others. 

Suddenly  you  are  transformed,  are  visibly  changed  in  a  mo- 
ment; 

You  are  no  longer  Priscilla,  but  Bertha  the  Beautiful  Spin- 
ner." ' 

Here  the  light  foot  on  the  treadle  grew  swifter  and  swifter; 
the  spindle 

Uttered  an  angry  snarl,  and  the  thread  snapped  short  in  her 
fingers;  50 

While  the  impetuous  speaker,  not  heeding  the  mischief,  con- 
tinued : 

*'  You  are  the  beautiful  Bertha,  the  spinner,  the  queen  of 
Helvetia;  ^ 

She  whose  story  I  read  at  a  stall  in  the  streets  of  Southampton, 

Who,  as  she  rode  on  her  palfrey,  o'er  valley  and  meadow  and 
mountain. 

Ever  was  spinning  her  thread  from  a  distaff  fixed  to  her 
saddle.  55 

She  was  so  thrifty  and  good,  that  her  name  passed  into  a 
proverb. 

So  shall  it  be  with  your  own,  when  the  spinning-wheel  shall 
no  longer 

Hum  in  the  house  of  the  farmer,  and  fill  its  chambers  with 
music. 

Then  shall  the  mothers,  reproving,  relate  how  it  was  in  their 
childhood, 

1  Karl  Joseph  Simrock's  monograph,  Bertha  die  Spinnerin  (Frankfort,  1853),  con- 
tains the  legend  of  Bertha. 

2  The  ancient  name  of  Switzerland. 


52  THE   COURTSHIP   OF 

Praising  the  good  old  times,  and  the  days  of  Priscilla  the 
spinner!^'  60 

Straight  uprose  from  her  wheel  the  beautiful  Puritan  maiden. 

Pleased  with  the  praise  of  her  thrift  from  him  whose  praise 
was  the  sweetest. 

Drew  from  the  reel  on  the  table  a  snowy  skein  of  her  spin- 
ning, 

Thus  making  answer,  meanwhile,  to  the  flattering  phrases  of 
Alden : 

"  Come,  you  must  not  be  idle;  if  I  am  a  pattern  for  house- 
wives, 65 

Show  yourself  equally  worthy  of  being  the  model  of  husbands. 

Hold  this  skein  on  your  hands,  while  I  wind  it,  ready  for 
knitting; 

Then  who  knows  but  hereafter,  when  fashions  have  changed 
and  the  manners. 

Fathers  may  talk  to  their  sons  of  the  good  old  times  of  John 
Alden!" 

Thus,  with  a  jest  and  a  laugh,  the  skein  on  his  hands  she 
,,    Y  J.      adjusted,  70 

fie  sitting  awkwardly  there,  with  his  arms  extended  before 
him, 

She  standing  graceful,  erect,  and  winding  the  thread  from  his 
fingers, 

Sometimes  chiding  a  little  his  clumsy  manner  of  holding, 

Sometimes  touching  his  hands,  as  she  disentangled  expertly 

Twist  or  knot  in  the  yarn,  unawares — for  how  could  she  help 
it  ?—  75 

Sending  electrical  thrills  through  every  nerve  in  his  body. 

Lo!    in  the  midst  of   this   scene,  a  breathless   messenger 

entered, 
—  Bringing  in  hurry  and  heat  the  terrible  news  from  the  viUage. 
Yes;  Miles  Standish  was  dead! — an  Indian  had  brought  them 
the  tidings, — 


MILES  STANDISH.  58 

Slain  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  shot  down  in  the  front  of  the 
battle,  80 

Into  an  ambush  beguiled,  cut  off  with  the  whole  of  his 
forces; 

All  the  town  would  be  burned,  and  all  the  people  be  mur- 
dered! 

Such  were  the  tidings  of  evil  that  burst  on  the  hearts  of  the 
hearers. 

Silent  and  statue-like  stood  Priscilla,  her  face  looking  back- 
ward 

Still  at  the  face  of  the  speaker,  her  arms  uplifted  in  hor- 
ror ;  85 

But  John  Alden,  upstarting,  as  if  the  barb  of  the  arrow 

Piercing  the  heart  of  his  friend  had  struck  his  own,  and  had 
sundered 

Once  and  forever  the  bonds  that  held  him  bound  as  a  captive. 

Wild  with  excess  of  sensation,  the  awful  delight  of  his  freedom. 

Mingled  with  pain  and  regret,  unconscious  of  what  he  was 
doing,  90 

Clasped,  almost  with  a  groan,  the  motionless  form  of  Priscilla, 

Pressing  her  close  to  his  heart,  as  forever  his  own,  and  ex- 
claiming : 

'^  Those  whom  the  Lord  hath  united,  let  no  man  put  them 
asunder!  " 

Even  as  rivulets  twain,  from  distant  and  separate  sources. 
Seeing  each  other  afar,  as  they  leaj)  from  the  rocks,  and  pur- 
suing 95 
Each  one  its  devious  path,  but  drawing  nearer  and  nearer. 
Rush  together  at  last,  at  their  trysting-place  in  the  forest; 
So  these  lives  that  had  run  thus  far  in  separate  channels. 
Coming  in  sight  of  each  other,  then  swerving  and  flowing 

asunder. 
Parted  by  barriers  strong,  but  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,    100 
Rushed  together  at  last,  and  one  was  lost  in  the  other.       j 


54  THE  COURTSHIP  OF 

IX. 

THE   WEDDII^'G-DAT. 

Forth  from  the  curtain  of  clouds,  from  the  tent  of  purple 
and  scarlet, 

Issued  the  sun,  the  great  High- Priest,  in  his  garments  re- 
splendent. 

Holiness  unto  the  Lord,  in  letters  of  light,  on  his  forehead, 

Eound  the  hem  of  his  robe  the  golden  bells  and  pomegran- 
ates.' 

Blessing  the  world  he  came,  and  the  bars  of  vapor  beneath 
him  5 

Gleamed  like  a  grate  of  brass,  and  the  sea  at  his  feet  was  a 
laver ! 

This  was  the  wedding  morn  of  Priscilla  the  Puritan  maiden. 
Friends  were  assembled  together;  the  Elder  and  Magistrate 

also 
Graced  the  scene  with  their  presence,  and  stood  like  the  Law 

and  the  Gospel, 
One  with  the  sanction  of  earth  and  one  with  the  blessing  of 
heaven.  10 

.  Simple  and  brief  was  the  wedding,  as  that  of  Kuth  and  of 
Boaz.^ 
_^,i-Hoft1v  the  youth  and  the  maiden  repeated  the  words  of  be- 
trothal. 
Taking  each  other  for  husband  and  wife  in  the  Magistrate's 

presence. 
After  the  Puritan  way,  and  the  laudable  custom  of  Holland.' 

1  Exodus,  xxviii. 

2  Ruth,  iv.  11,  12. 

3  "May  12  was  the  first  marriage  in  this  place,"  says  Bradford,  "  which,  according  to 
the  laudable  custome  of  the  Low-Cuntries,  in  whicli  they  had  lived,  was  thought  most 
requisite  to  be  performed  by  the  magistrate,  as  being  a  civil  thing,  upon  which  many 
questions  aboute  inheritances  doe  depende,  with  other  things  most  proper  to  their  cog- 


MILES   STANDISH.  55 

Fervently  then  and  devoutly,  the  excellent  Elder  of  Plym- 
outh   "  15 

Prayed  for  the  hearth  and  the  home,  that  were  founded  that 
day  in  affection, 

Speaking  of  life  and  of  death,  and  imploring  Divine  benedic- 
tions. 

Lo!  when  the  service  was  ended,  a  form  appeared  on  the 
threshold, 

Clad  in  armor  of  steel,  a  sombre  and  sorrowful  figure ! 

Why  does  the  bridegroom  start  and  stare  at  the  strange  ap- 
parition ?  20 

Why  does  the  bride  turn  pale,  and  hide  her  face  on  his  shoul- 
der ? 

Is  it  a  phantom  of  air, — a  bodiless,  spectral  illusion? 

Is  it  a  ghost  from  the  grave,  that  has  come  to  forbid  the  be- 
trothal ? 

Long  had  it  stood  there  unseen,  a  guest  uninvited,  un wel- 
comed ; 

Over  its  clouded  eyes  there  had  passed  at  times  an  expres- 
sion 25 

Softening  the  gloom  and  revealing  the  warm  heart  hidden 
beneath  them. 

As  when  across  the  sky  the  driving  rack  of  the  rain  cloud 

Grows  for  a  moment  thin,  and  betrays  the  sun  by  its  bright- 
ness. 

Once  it  had  lifted  its  hand,  and  moved  its  lips,  but  was  silent. 

As  if  an  iron  will  had  mastered  the  fleeting  intention.  30 

But  when  were  ended  the  troth  and  the  prayer  and  the  last 

benediction, 
-Into  the  room  it  strode,  and  the  people  beheld  with  amaze- 
ment 

nizans,  and  most  consonante  to  the  scripturs,  Ruth  4,  and  no  wher  found  in  the  gospell  to 
be  layed  on  the  ministers  as  a  part  of  their  o&ce.''— History  of  Plymouth  Plantation,  p. 
101. 


56  THE   COURTSHIP  OP 

Bodily  there  in  his  armor  Miles  Standish^  the  Captain  of 
Plymouth ! 

Grasping  the  bridegroom's  hand,  he  said  with  emotion,  '*  For- 
give me! 

I  have  been  angry  and  hurt, — too  long  have  I  cherished  the 
feeling;  35 

I.  have  been  cruel  and  hard,  but  now,  thank  God!  it  is 
ended. 

Mine  is  the  same  hot  blood  that  leaped  in  the  veins  of  Hugh 
Standish, 

Sensitive,  swift  to  resent,  but  as  swift  in  atoning  for  error. 

Never  so  much  as  now  was  Miles  Standish  the  friend  of  John 
Alden." 

Thereupon  answered  the  bridegroom:  "Let  all  be  forgotten 
between  us, —  40 

All  save  the  dear  old  friendship,  and  that  shall  grow  older  and 
dearer ! ' ' 

Then  the  Captain  advanced,  and,  bowing,  saluted  Priscilla, 

Gravely,  and  after  the  manner  of  old-fashioned  gentry  in 
England, 

Something  of  camp  and  of  court,  of  town  and  of  country, 
commingled. 

Wishing  her  joy  of  her  wedding,  and  loudly  lauding  her  hus- 
band. 45 

Then  he  said  with  a  smile:  "I  should  have  remembered  the 
adage, — 

If  you  would  be  well  served,  you  must  serve  yourself;  and 
moreover, 

No  man  can  gather  cherries  in  Kent  ^  at  the  season  of  Christ- 
mas! " 

Great  was  the  people's  amazement,  and  greater  yet  their 
rejoicing, 

1  An  old  English  proverb.    Kent  is  a  county  in  the  south  of  England. 


MILES-  STANDISH.  57 

Thus  to  behold  once  more  the  sunburnt  face  of  their  Cap- 
tain, 50 

Whom  they  had  mourned  as  dead;  and  they  gathered  and 
crowded  about  him. 

Eager  to  see  him  and  hear  him,  forgetful  of  bride  and  of 
bridegroom. 

Questioning,  answering,  laughing,  and  each  interrupting  the 
other. 

Till  the  good  Captain  declared,  being  quite  overpowered  and 
bewildered. 

He  had  rather  by  far  break  into  an  Indian  encampment,       55 

Than  come  again  to  a  wedding  to  which  he  had  not  been 
invited. 

/ 

- — ^  Meanwhile  the  bridegroom  went  forth  and  stood  with  the 
bride  at  the  doorwav, 

Breathing  the  perfumed  air  of  that  warm  and  beautiful  morn- 
ing. 

Touched  with  autumnal  tints,  but  lonely  and  sad  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

Lay  extended  before  them  the  land  of  toil  and  privation;     60 

There  were  the  graves  of  the  dead,  and  the  barren  waste  of 
the  seashore. 

There  the  familiar  fields,  the  groves  of  pine,  and  the  meadows; 

But  to  their  eyes  transfigured,  it  seemed  as  the  Garden  of 
Eden, 

Filled  with  the  presence  of  God,  whose  voice  was  the  sound  of 
the  ocean,    i 

Soon  was  their  vision  disturbed  by  the  noise  and  stir  of 
departure,  65 

Friends  coming  forth  from  the  house,  and  impatient  of  longer 
delaying, 

Each  with  his  plan  for  the  day,  and  the  work  that  was  left 
uncompleted. 


58  THE  COURTSHIP  OF 

Then  from  a  stall  near  at  hand,  amid  exclamations  of  won- 
der, 
Alden  the  thoughtful,   the  careful,   so  happy,   so  proud  of 

Priscilla, 
.Brought  out  his  snow-white  bull,  obeying  the  hand  of  its 

master,  70 

Led  by  a  cord  that  was  tied  to  an  iron  ring  in  its  nostrils. 
Covered  with  crimson  cloth,  and  a  cushion  placed  for  a  saddle. 
She  should  not  walk,  he  said,  through  the  dust  and  heat  of  the 

noonday ; 
Nay,   she  should  ride  like  a  queen,   not  plod  along  like  a 

peasant. 
Somewhat  alarmed  at  first,  but  reassured  by  the  others,        75 
Placing  her  hand  on  the  cushion,  her  foot  in  the  hand  of  her 

husband, 
Gayly,  with  joyous  laugh,  Priscilla  mounted  her  palfrey. 
*' Nothing  is  wanting  now,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  ''but  the 

distaff; 
Then  you  would  be  in  truth  my  queen,  my  beautiful  Bertha!  " 

Onward  the  bridal  procession  now  moved  to  their  new  hab- 
itation, 80 

Happy  husband  and  wife,  and  friends  conversing  together. 

Pleasantly  murmured  the  brook,  as  they  crossed  the  ford  in 
the  forest. 

Pleased  with  the  image  that  passed,  like  a  dream  of  love 
through  its  bosom. 

Tremulous,  floating  in  air,  o'er  the  depths  of  the  azure 
abysses. 

Down  through  the  golden  leaves  the  sun  was  pouring  his 
splendors,  85 

Gleaming  on  purple  grapes,  that,  from  branches  above  them 
suspended, 

Mingled  their  odorous  breath  with  the  balm  of  the  pine  and 
the  fir-tree. 


MILES   STANDISH.  59 

Wild  and  sweet  as  the  clusters  that  grew  in  the  valley  of 

Eshcol.* 
Like  a  picture  it  seemed  of  the  primitive,  pastoral  ages. 
Fresh  with  the  youth  of  the  world,  and  recalling  Rebecca  and 
Isaac,''  90 

SfW^-— Old  and  yet  ever  new,  and  simple  and  beautiful  always. 

Love  immortal  and  young  in  the  endless  succession  of  lovers, 
o  through  the  Plymouth  woods  passed  onward  the  bridal 
procession. 

I  Near  Hebron,  in  Palestine.    From  there  the  spies  sent  by  Moses  to  search  out  the 
land  brought  back  large  clusters  of  grapes.    Numbers,  sill.  23. 
a  Genesis,  xxiv.  61-67. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


A    PSALM    OF    LIFE. 

WHAT    THE    HEART    OF    THE    YOUNG    MAN    SAID    TO 
THE    PSALMIST. 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 

"  Life  is  but  an  empty  dream!  " 
For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 

And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real!     Life  is  earnest! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal; 
"  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest/' 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

Not  enjojTuent,  and  not  sorrow. 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

Finds  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting. 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle. 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife! 


02  THE  REAPER  AND  THE  FLOWERS. 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bur}^  its  dead! 
Act, — act  in  the  living  Present! 

Heart  within,  and  God  overhead! 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time; 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another, 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother. 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing. 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate; 

Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 


THE  EEAPEK  AND  THE  FLOWEES. 

There  is  a  Eeaper,  whose  name  is  Death, 

And,  with  his  sickle  keen. 
He  reaps  the  bearded  grain  at  a  breath, 

And  the  flowers  that  grow  between. 

"  Shall  I  have  nought  that  is  fair?  "  saith  he. 

"  Have  nought  but  the  bearded  grain? 
Though  the  breath  of  these  flowers  is  sweet  to  me, 

I  will  give  them  all  back  again." 

He  gazed  at  the  flowers  with  tearful  eyes, 
He  kissed  their  drooping  leaves; 


FOOTSTEPS   OF  ANGELS.  63 

It  was  for  the  Lord  of  Paradise 
He  bound  them  in  his  sheaves. 

'^  My  Lord  has  need  of  these  flowerets  gay/^ 

The  Reaper  said,  and  smiled; 
"  Dear  tokens  of  the  earth  are  they. 

Where  He  was  once  a  child. 

"  They  shall  all  bloom  in  fields  of  light. 

Transplanted  by  my  care, 
And  saints,  upon  their  garments  white. 

These  sacred  blossoms  wear." 

And  the  mother  gave,  in  tears  and  pain. 

The  flowers  she  most  did  love; 
She  knew  she  should  find  them  all  again 

In  the  fields  of  light  above. 

0,  not  in  cruelty,  not  in  wrath, 

The  Reaper  came  that  day; 
'Twas  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth. 

And  took  the  flowers  away. 


FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS. 

When  the  hours  of  Day  are  numbered. 
And  the  voices  of  the  Mght 

Wake  the  better  soul,  that  slumbered, 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight; 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted. 
And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall. 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  fire-light 
Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall; 


64  FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS.       ' 

Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted. 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more; 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 
Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 

By  the  roadside  fell  and  perished, 
AYeary  with  the  march  of  life! 

They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly, 
Who  the  cross  of  suffering  bore. 

Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly. 
Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more! 

And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given. 

More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me. 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine. 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me. 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes. 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like. 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended. 
Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer. 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended. 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 


THE   BELEAGUERED   CITY.  6^ 

0,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely. 

All  my  fears  are  laid  aside. 
If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died! 


THE    BELEAGUERED    CITY. 

I  HAVE  read,  in  some  old  marvellous  tale. 
Some  legend  strange  and  vague, 

That  a  midnight  host  of  spectres  pale 
Beleaguered  the  walls  of  Prague. 

Beside  the  Moldau's  rushing  stream. 
With  the  wan  moon  overhead, 

There  stood,  as  in  an  awful  dream. 
The  army  of  the  dead. 

White  as  a  sea-fog,  landward  bound. 

The  spectral  camp  was  seen. 
And,  with  a  sorrowful,  deep  sound. 

The  river  flowed  between. 

No  other  voice  nor  sound  was  there, 

No  drum,  nor  sentry's  pace; 
The  mist-like  banners  clasped  the  air. 

As  clouds  with  clouds  embrace. 

But,  when  the  old  cathedral  bell 
Proclaimed  the  morning  prayer. 

The  white  pavilions  rose  and  fell 
On  the  alarmed  air. 

6 


66  THE   BELEAGUERED   CITY. 

Down  the  broad  valley  fast  and  far 

The  troubled  army  tied; 
Up  rose  the  glorious  morning  star. 

The  ghastly  host  was  dead. 

I  have  read,  in  the  marvellous  heart  of  man. 
That  strange  and  mystic  scroll, 

That  an  army  of  phantoms  vast  and  wan 
Beleaguer  the  human  soul. 

Encamped  beside  Life's  rushing  stream. 

In  Fancy's  misty  light. 
Gigantic  shapes  and  shadows  gleam 

Portentous  through  the  night. 

Upon  its  midnight  battle-ground 

The  spectral  camp  is  seen, 
And,  with  a  sorrowful,  deep  sound. 

Flows  the  Eiver  of  Life  between. 

No  other  voice  nor  sound  is  there. 

In  the  army  of  the  grave; 
Ko  other  challenge  breaks  the  air. 

But  the  rushing  of  Life's  wave. 

And,  when  the  solemn  and  deep  church-bell 

Entreats  the  soul  to  pray. 
The  midnight  phantoms  feel  the  spell. 

The  shadows  sweep  away. 

Down  the  broad  Vale  of  Tears  afar 

The  spectral  camp  is  fled; 
Faith  shineth  as  a  morning  star. 

Our  ghastly  fears  are  dead. 


HYMN  OF  THE  MORAVIAN"  NUNS.  67 


HYMN  OF  THE  MOEAVIAN^  NUNS  OF 
BETHLEHEM. 

AT    THE    CONSECEATION    OF    PULASKl's    BANNER. 

When  the  dying  flame  of  day 
Through  the  chancel  shot  its  ray, 
Far  from  the  glimmering  tapers  shed 
Faint  light  on  the  cowled  head; 
And  the  censer  burning  swung, 
Where,  before  the  altar,  hung 
The  blood-red  banner,  that  with  prayer 
Had  been  consecrated  there. 
And  the  nuns'  sweet  hymn  was  heard  the  while. 
Sung  low  in  the  dim,  mysterious  aisle. 

"  Take  thy  banner!     May  it  wave 
Proudly  o'er  the  good  and  brave; 
When  the  battle's  distant  wail 
Breaks  the  Sabbath  of  our  vale. 
When  the  clarion's  music  thrills 
To  the  hearts  of  these  lone  hills. 
When  the  spear  in  conflict  shakes. 
And  the  strong  lance  shivering  breaks. 

'^  Take  thy  banner!  and,  beneath 
The  battle-cloud's  encircling  wreath. 
Guard  it! — till  our  homes  are  free! 
Guard  it! — God  will  prosper  thee! 
In  the  dark  and  trying  hour. 
In  the  breaking  forth  of  power. 
In  the  rush  of  steeds  and  men. 
His  right  hand  will  shield  thee  then. 


68  BURIAL   OF  THE  MINNISINK. 

^^  Take  thy  banner!     But,  when  night 

Closes  round  the  ghastly  fight, 

If  the  vanquished  warrior  bow. 

Spare  him! — By  our  holy  vow, 

By  our  prayers  and  many  tears. 

By  the  mercy  that  endears. 

Spare  him! — he  our  love  hath  shared! 

Spare  him! — as  thou  wouldst  be  spared! 

"  Take  thy  banner! — and  if  e'er 
Thou  shouldst  press  the  soldier's  bier, 
And  the  muffled  drum  should  beat 
To  the  tread  of  mournful  feet. 
Then  this  crimson  flag  shall  be 
Martial  cloak  and  shroud  for  thee." 

The  warrior  took  that  banner  proud, 
And  it  was  his  martial  cloak  and  shroud! 


BUEIAL    OF    THE    MIN^NISIN'K. 

On  sunny  slope  and  beechen  swell. 
The  shadowed  light  of  evening  fell; 
And,  where  the  maple's  leaf  was  brown. 
With  soft  and  silent  lapse  came  down 
The  glory,  that  the  wood  receives. 
At  sunset,  in  its  brazen  leaves. 

Far  upward  in  the  mellow  light 
Eose  the  blue  hills.     One  cloud  of  white, 
Around  a  far  uplifted  cone. 
In  the  warm  blush  of  evening  shone; 
An  image  of  the  silver  lakes, 
By  which  the  Indian's  soul  awakes. 


BURIAL   OF   THE   MINNISINK.  69 

But  soon  a  funeral  hymn  was  heard 
"Where  the  soft  breath  of  evening  stirred 
The  tall,  gray  forest;  and  a  band 
Of  stern  in  heart,  and  strong  in  hand, 
Came  winding  down  beside  the  wave. 
To  lay  the  red  chief  in  his  grave. 

They  sang,  that  by  his  native  bowers 
He  stood,  in  the  last  moon  of  flowers. 
And  thirty  snows  had  not  yet  shed 
Their  glory  on  the  warrior's  head; 
But,  as  the  summer  fruit  decays. 
So  died  he  in  those  naked  days. 

A  dark  cloak  of  the  roebuck's  skin 
Covered  the  warrior,  and  within 
Its  heavy  folds  the  weapons,  made 
For  the  hard  toils  of  war,  were  laid; 
The  cuirass,  woven  of  plaited  reeds. 
And  the  broad  belt  of  shells  and  beads. 

Before,  a  dark-haired  virgin  train 
Chanted  the  death  dirge  of  the  slain; 
Behind,  the  long  procession  came 
Of  hoary  men  and  chiefs  of  fame. 
With  heavy  hearts,  and  eyes  of  grief, 
Leading  the  war-horse  of  their  chief. 

Stripped  of  his  proud  and  martial  dress, 
Uncurbed,  unreined,  and  riderless. 
With  darting  eye,  and  nostril  spread. 
And  heavy  and  impatient  tread. 
He  came;  and  oft  that  eye  so  proud 
Asked  for  his  rider  in  the  crowd. 


70  THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR. 

They  buried  the  dark  chief,  they  freed 
Beside  the  grave  his  battle  steed; 
And  swift  an  arrow  cleaved  its  way 
To  his  stern  heart!     One  piercing  neigh 
Arose — and,  on  the  dead  man's  plain. 
The  rider  grasps  his  steed  again. 

THE    SKELETON   IN   ARMOR. 

''  Speak!  speak!  thou  fearful  guest  I 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
Still  in  rude  armor  drest, 

Comest  to  daunt  me! 
Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms. 
But  with  thy  fleshless  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms. 

Why  dost  thou  haunt  me?*' 

Then,  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise. 
As  when  the  Northern  skies 

Gleam  in  December; 
And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December's  snow. 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 

From  the  heart's  chamber, 

"I  was  a  Viking  old! 

My  deeds,  though  manifold, 

No  Skald  in  song  has  told. 

No  Saga  taught  thee! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse. 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse; 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOE.  71 

**  Far  in  the  Northern  Land, 
By  the  wild  Baltic^s  strand, 
I,  with  my  childish  hand. 

Tamed  the  gerfalcon; 
And,  with  my  skates  fast-bound. 
Skimmed  the  half-frozen  Sound, 
That  the  poor  whimpering  hound 

Trembled  to  walk  on. 

^'  Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear. 
While  from  my  path  the  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow; 
Oft  through  the  forest  dark 
Followed  the  were-wolf  s  bark. 
Until  the  soaring  lark 

Sang  from  the  meadow. 

''But  when  I  older  grew. 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew, 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 

With  the  marauders. 
Wild  was  the  life  we  led; 
Many  the  souls  that  sped, 
Many  the  hearts  that  bled. 

By  our  stern  orders. 

*'  Many  a  wassail-bout 
Wore  the  long  Winter  out; 
Often  our  midnight  shout 

Set  the  cocks  crowing, 
As  we  the  Berserk's  tale 
Measured  in  cups  of  ale. 
Draining  the  oaken  pail. 

Filled  to  o'erflowinsf. 


72  THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR. 

"  Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea. 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me. 

Burning  yet  tender; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine. 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  soft  splendor. 

^'  I  wooed  the  blue-eyed  maid. 
Yielding,  yet  half  afraid. 
And  in  the  forest's  shade 

Our  vows  were  plighted. 
Under  its  loosened  vest 
Fluttered  her  little  breast. 
Like  birds  within  their  nest 

By  the  hawk  frighted. 

"  Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shields  gleamed  upon  the  wall 
Loud  sang  the  minstrels  all, 

Chaunting  his  glory; 
When  of  old  Hildebrand 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand. 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 

"  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed. 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed. 
And  as  the  wind-gusts  waft 

The  sea-foam  brightly, 
So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking-horn 

Blew  the  foam  lightly. 


THE  SKELETON   IN  ARMOR. 

^'  She  was  a  Prince's  child, 

I  but  a  Viking  wild, 

And  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 

I  was  discarded! 
Should  not  the  dove  so  white 
FolloAv  the  sea-mew's  flight, 
Why  did  they  leave  that  night 

Her  nest  unguarded? 

"  Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me, — 
Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen! — 
When  on  the  white  sea-strand. 
Waving  his  armed  hand. 
Saw  we  old  Hildebrand, 

With  twenty  horsemen. 

"  Then  launched  they  to  the  blast. 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast. 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast, 

When  the  wind  failed  us; 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw, 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 

Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 

"  And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Eound  veered  the  flapping  sail. 
Death!  was  the  helmsman's  hail. 

Death  without  quarter! 
Mid-ships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 

Through  the  black  water! 


74  THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR. 

"  As  with  his  wings  aslant. 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt, 

With  his  prey  laden. 
So  toward  the  open  main. 
Beating  to  sea  again. 
Through  the  wild  hurricane 

Bore  I  the  maiden. 

"  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore. 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er. 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretching  to  lee-ward; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower. 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 

Stands  looking  seaward. 

"  There  lived  we  many  years; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears. 

She  was  a  mother; 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes. 
Under  that  tower  she  lies; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 

On  such  another! 

"  Still  grew  my  bosom  then. 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 

The  sunlight  hateful! 
In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear. 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear, 

0,  death  was  grateful! 


THE   WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS.  75 

"  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars 
Bursting  these  prison  bars, 
Up  to  its  native  stars 

My  soul  ascended! 
There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul, 
Shoal!  to  the  Northland!  slcoal! " 

— Thus  the  tale  ended. 


THE  WEECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS. 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy-flax. 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 
And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke  now  West,  now  South. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  sailor, 

Had  sailed  the  Spanish  Main, 
"  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port. 

For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"  Last  night  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 
And  to-night  no  moon  we  see!  " 

The  skipper  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 
And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 


76  THE   WRECK   OF   THE  HESPERUS. 

Colder  and  colder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  l^orth-east; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

^^  Come  hither!   come  hither!   my  little  daughter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so; 
For  I  can  ride  the  roughest  gale. 

That  ever  wind  did  blow.'' 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar. 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

^^  0  father!  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

0  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
'^  'Tis  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast!  " — 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  0  father!   I  hear  the  sound  of  guns, 

0  say,  what  may  it  be?  " 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea!  " 

"  0  father!   I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

0  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 


THE  WEECK   OF  THE   HESPERUS.  77 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 
With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 

The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  snow- 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ  who  stilled  the  wave, 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear. 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 

Towards,  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf. 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows. 

She  drifted  a  drear}^  wreck. 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool. 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice. 

With  the  masts  went  by  the  board; 
Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank. 

Ho!  ho!  the  breakers  roared! 


78  THE   VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair. 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed. 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 
In  the  midnight  and  the  snow! 

Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this. 
On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe! 


THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

Hndee  a  spreading  chestnut  tree 

The  village  smithy  stands; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he. 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat. 

He  earns  whatever  he  can. 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face. 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow; 


THE   VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH.  79 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge 

With  measured  beat  and  slow. 
Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell. 

When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge. 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar. 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing  floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church. 

And  sits  among  his  boys; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach. 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice. 
Singing  in  the  village  choir. 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice. 

Singing  in  Paradise! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more. 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling, — r  e  j  oicing, — sorrowing. 

Onward  through  life  he  goes; 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin. 

Each  evening  sees  it  close; 
Something  attempted,  something  done. 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend. 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught! 


80  EXCELSIOR. 

Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought; 

Thus  on  the  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought! 

EXCELSIOR. 

The  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast, 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  passed 
A  youth,  who  bore,  'mid  snow  and  ice, 
A  banner,  with  the  strange  device. 
Excelsior! 

His  brow  was  sad;  his  eye  beneath, 
Flashed  like  a  falchion  from  its  sheath, 
And  like  a  silver  clarion  rung 
The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue. 
Excelsior! 

In  happy  homes  he  saw  the  light 
Of  household  fires  gleam  warm  and  bright; 
Above,  the  spectral  glaciers  shone. 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  groan. 
Excelsior! 

"  Try  not  the  Pass! ''  the  old  man  said; 
"  Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead. 
The  roaring  torrent  is  deep  and  wide!  " 
And  loud  that  clarion  voice  replied, 
Excelsior! 

"  0  stay,"  the  maiden  said,  "  and  rest 
Thy  weary  head  upon  this  breast!  " 
A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye, 
'  But  still  he  answered,  with  a  sigh, 
Excelsior! 


THE   BELFRY   OF   BRUGES.  81 

"Beware  the  pine-tree's  withered  branch! 
Beware  the  awful  avalanche! " 
This  was  the  peasant's  last  Good-night, 
A  voice  replied,  far  up  the  height. 
Excelsior! 

At  break  of  da}^,  as  heavenward 
The  pious  monks  of  St.  Bernard 
Uttered  tlie  oft-repeated  prayer, 
A  voice  cried  through  the  startled  air. 
Excelsior! 

A  traveller,  by  the  faithful  hound, 
Half-buried  in  the  snow  was  found, 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  of  ice 
That  banner  with  the  strange  device. 
Excelsior! 

There  in  the  twilight  cold  and  gray. 
Lifeless,  but  beautiful,  he  lay, 
And  from  the  sky,  serene  and  far, 
A  voice  fell,  like  a  falling  star, 
Excelsior! 


THE    BELFEY    OF    BRUGES. 

In  the  market-place  of  Bruges  stands  the  belfry  old  and 
brown; 

Thrice  consumed  and  thrice  rebuilded,  still  it  watches  o'er 
the  town. 

As  the  summer  morn  was  breaking,  on  that  lofty  tower  I 

stood. 
And  the  world  threw  off  the  darkness,  like  the  weeds  of 

widowhood. 
6 


82  THE   BELFRY   OF   BRUGES. 

Thick  with  towns  and  hamlets  studded,  and  with  streams  and 
vapors  gray, 

Like  a  shiekl  embossed  with  silver,  round  and  vast  the  land- 
scape la}'. 

At  my  feet  the  city  slumbered.  From  its  chimneys,  here  and 
there, 

Wreaths  of  snow-white  smoke,  ascending,  vanished,  ghost- 
like, into  air. 

Xot  a  sound  rose  from  the  city  at  that  early  morning  hour. 
But  I  heard  a  heart  of  iron  beating  in  the  ancient  tower. 

• 
From  their  nests  beneath  the  rafters  sang  the  swallows  wild 

and  high; 
And  the  world,  beneath  me  sleeping,  seemed  more  distant  than 

the  sky. 

Then  most  musical  and  solemn,  bringing  back  the  olden  times, 
With  their  strange,  unearthly  changes  rang  the  melancholy 
chimes. 

Like  the  psalms  from  some  old  cloister,  when  the  nuns  sing 

in  the  choir; 
And  the  great  bell  tolled  among  them,  like  the  chanting  of 

a  friar. 

Visions  of  the  days  departed,  shadowy  phantoms  filled  my 

brain; 
They  who  live  in  history  only  seemed  to  walk  the  earth  again; 

All  the  Foresters  of  Flanders, — mighty  Baldwin  Bras  de  Fer, 
Lyderick  du  Bucq  and  Cressy,  Philip,  Guy  de  Dampierre. 


THE   BELFRY   OF   BRUGES.  83 

I  beheld  the  pageants  splendid,  that  adorned  those  days  of  old; 
Stately  dames,  like  queens  attended,  knights  who  bore  the 
Fleece  of  Gold; 

Lombard  and  Venetian  merchants  with  deep-laden  argosies; 
Ministers  from  twenty  nations;  more  than  royal  pomp  and 
ease. 

I    beheld    proud    Maximilian,    kneeling    humbly    on    the 

ground; 
I  beheld  the  gentle  Mary,  hunting  with  her  hawk  and  hound; 

And  the  lighted  bridal-chamber,  where  a  duke  slept  with  the 

queen, 
And  the  armed  guard  around  them,  and  the  sword  unsheathed 

between. 

I  beheld  the  Flemish  weavers,  with  Namur  and  Juliers  bold. 
Marching  homeward  from  the  bloody  battle  of  the  Spurs  of 
Gold; 

Saw  the  fight  at  Minnewater,  saw  the  White  Hoods  moving 

west. 
Saw  great  Artevelde  victorious  scale  the  Golden  Dragon's 

nest. 

And  again  the  whiskered  Spaniard  all  the  land  with  terror 

smote; 
And  again  the  wild  alarum  sounded  from  the  tocsin's  throat; 

Till  the  bell  of  Ghent  responded  o'er  lagoon  and  dike  of 

sand, 
"  I  am  Eoland!   I  am  Roland!   there  is  victory  in  the  land!  " 


84  THE   ARSENAL   AT   SPRINGFIELD. 

Then  the  sound  of  drums  aroused  me.     The  awakened  city's 

roar 
Chased  the  phantoms  I  had  summoned  back  into  their  graves 

once  more. 

Hours  had  passed  away  like  minutes;  and,  before  I  was  aware, 
Lo!  the  shadow  of  the  belfry  crossed  the  sun-illumined  square. 


THE  ARSENAL  AT  SPEINGFIELD. 

This  is  the  Arsenal.    From  floor  to  ceiling, 
Like  a  huge  organ,  rise  the  burnished  arms; 

But  from  their  silent  pipes  no  anthem  pealing 
Startles  the  villages  with  strange  alarms. 

Ah!  what  a  sound  will  rise,  how  wild  and  dreary. 
When  the  death-angel  touches  those  swift  keys! 

What  loud  lament  and  dismal  Miserere 
Will  mingle  with  their  awful  symphonies! 

I  hear  even  now  the  infinite  fierce  chorus. 

The  cries  of  agony,  the  endless  groan, 
Which,  through  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  us, 

In  long  reverberations  reach  our  own. 

On  helm  and  harness  rings  the  Saxon  hammer. 

Through  Cimbric  forest  roars  the  Norseman's  song. 

And  loud,  amid  the  universal  clamor, 

O'er  distant  deserts  sounds  the  Tartar  gong. 

T  hear  the  Florentine,  who  from  his  palace 
Wheels  out  his  battle-bell  with  dreadful  din. 

And  Aztec  priests  upon  their  teocallis 
Beat  the  wild  war-drums  made  of  serpent's  skin; 


THE   ARSENAL   AT  SPRINGFIELD.  85 

The  tuiimlt  of  each  sacked  and  burning  village; 

The  shout  that  every  prayer  for  mercy  drowns; 
The  soldiers'  revels  in  the  midst  of  pillage; 

The  wail  of  famine  in  beleaguered  towns; 

The  bursting  shell,  the  gateway  wrenched  asunder. 
The  rattling  musketry,  the  clashing  blade; 

And  ever  and  anon,  in  tones  of  thunder, 
The  diapason  of  the  cannonade. 

Is  it,  0  man,  with  such  discordant  noises. 
With  such  accursed  instruments  as  these. 

Thou  drownest  Nature's  sweet  and  kindly  voices. 
And  jarrest  the  celestial  harmonies? 

Were  half  the  power,  that  fills  the  world  with  terror. 
Were  half  the  wealth,  bestowed  on  camps  and  courts. 

Given  to  redeem  the  human  mind  from  error. 
There  were  no  need  of  arsenals  nor  forts: 

The  warrior's  name  would  be  a  name  abhorred! 

And  every  nation,  that  should  lift  again 
Its  hand  against  a  brother,  on  its  forehead 

Would  wear  for  evermore  the  curse  of  Cain! 

Down  the  dark  future,  through  long  generations. 
The  echoing  sounds  grow  fainter  and  then  cease; 

And  like  a  bell,  with  solemn,  sweet  vibrations, 

I  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  Christ  say,  "Peace! " 

Peace!   and  no  longer  from  its  brazen  portals 
The  blast  of  War's  great  organ  shakes  the  skies! 

But  beautiful  as  songs  of  the  immortals. 
The  holy  melodies  of  love  arise. 


86  NUREMBEKG. 


NUEEMBERG. 

In"  the  valley  of  the  Pegnitz,  where  across  broad  meadow- 
lands 

Else  the  blue  Franconian  mountains,  Nuremberg,  the  ancient, 
stands. 

Quaint  old  town  of  toil  and  traffic,  quaint  old  town  of  art 

and  song, 
Memories  haunt  thy  pointed  gables,  like  the  rooks  that  round 

them  throng: 

Memories  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when  the  emperors,  rough  and 

bold. 
Had  their  dwelling  in  thy  castle,  time-defying,  centuries  old; 

And  thy  brave  and  thrifty  burghers  boasted,  in  their  uncouth 

rhyme. 
That  their  great  imperial  city  stretched  its  hand  through 

every  clime. 

In  the  court-yard  of  the  castle,  bound  with  many  an  iron  band, 
Stands  the  mighty  linden  planted  by   Queen   Cunigunde's 
hand; 

On  the  square  the  oriel  window,  where  in  old  heroic  days. 
Sat  the  poet  Melchior  singing  Kaiser  Maximilian's  praise. 

Everywhere  I  see  around  me  rise  the  wondrous  world  of  Art: 
Fountains  wrought  with  richest  sculpture  standing  in  the 
common  mart; 

And  above  cathedral  doorways  saints  and  bishops  carved  in 

stone, 
By  a  former  age  commissioned  as  apostles  to  our  own. 


NUREMBERG.  87 

In  the  church  of  sainted  Sebald  sleeps  enshrined  his  holy 

dust. 
And  in  bronze  the  Twelve  Apostles  guard  from  age  to  age 

their  trust; 

In  the  church  of  sainted  Lawrence  stands  a  pix  of  sculpture 

rare, 
Like  the  foamy  sheaf  of  fountains,  rising  through  the  painted 

air. 

Here,  when  Art  was  still  religion,  with  a  simple,  reverent 

heart. 
Lived  and  labored  Albrecht  Durer,  the  Evangelist  of  Art; 

Hence  in  silence  and  in  sorrow,  toiling  still  with  busy  hand, 
Like  an  emigrant  he  wandered,  seeking  for  the  Better  Land. 

Emigravit  is  the   inscription   on   the   tombstone   where   he 

lies; 
Dead  he  is  not,— but  departed,— for  the  artist  never  dies. 

Fairer  seems  the  ancient  city,  and  the  sunshine  seems  more 
fair. 

That  he  once  has  trod  its  pavement,  that  he  once  has  breathed 
its  air! 

Through  these  streets  so  broad  and  stately,  these  obscure  and 

dismal  lanes. 
Walked   of   yore   the    Mastersingers,    chanting   rude   poetic 

strains. 

From  remote  and  sunless  suburbs,  came  they  to  the  friendly 

guild, 
Building  nests  in  Fame's  great  temple,  as  in  spouts  the 

swallows  build. 


88  NUREMBERG. 

As  the  weaver  plied  the  shuttle,  wove  he  too  the  mystic 

rhyme, 
And  the  smith  his  iron  measures  hammered  to  the  anvil's 

chime; 

Thanking  God,  whose  boundless  wisdom  makes  the  flowers  of 

poesy  bloom 
In  the  forge's  dust  and  cinders,  in  the  tissues  of  the  loom. 

Here  Hans  Sachs,  the  cobbler-poet,  laureate  of  the  gentle 

craft. 
Wisest  of  the  Twelve  Wise  Masters,  in  huge  folios  sang  and 

laughed. 

But  his  house  is  now  an  ale-house,  with  a  nicely  sanded  floor, 
And  a  garland  in  the  window,  and  his  face  above  the  door; 

Painted  by  some  humble  artist,  as  in  Adam  Puschman's  song, 
As  the  old  man  gray  and  dove-like,  with  his  great  beard  white 
and  long. 

And  at  night  the  swart  mechanic  comes  to  drown  his  cark 

and  care, 
Quaffing  ale  from  pewter  tankards,  in  the  master's  antique 

chair. 

Vanished  is  the  ancient  splendor,  and  before  my  dreamy  eye 
Wave  these  mingling  shapes  and  figures,  like  a  faded  tapestry. 

Not  thy  Councils,  not  thy  Kaisers,  win  for  thee  the  world's 

regard; 
But   thy   painter,    Albrecht   Diirer,    and    Hans    Sachs,    thy 

cobbler-bard. 


THE  NORMAN  BARON.  89 

Thus,  0  ISTuremberg,  a  wanderer  from  a  region  far  away, 
As  he  paced  thy  streets  and  court-yards,  sang  in  thought  his 
careless  lay: 

Gathering  from  the  pavement's  crevice,  as  a  floweret  of  the 

soil, 
The  nobility  of  labor, — the  long  pedigree  of  toil. 


THE    NORMAN   BARON. 

In  his  chamber,  weak  and  dying, 
Was  the  Norman  baron  lying; 
Loud,  without,  the  tempest  thundered. 
And  the  castle  turret  shook. 

In  this  fight  was  Death  the  gainer. 
Spite  of  vassal  and  retainer. 
And  the  lands  his  sires  had  plundered. 
Written  in  the  Doomsday  Book. 

By  his  bed  a  monk  was  seated, 
WTio  in  humble  voice  repeated 
Many  a  prayer  and  pater-noster. 
From  the  missal  on  his  knee; 

And,  amid  the  tempest  pealing. 
Sounds  of  bells  came  faintly  stealing. 
Bells,  that,  from  the  neighboring  kloster. 
Rang  for  the  Nativity. 

In  the  hall,  the  serf  and  vassal 

Held,  that  night,  their  Christmas  wassail; 

Many  a  carol,  old  and  saintly. 

Sang  the  minstrels  and  the  waits. 


90  THE  NORMAN  BARON. 

And  so  loud  these  Saxon  gleemen 
Sang  to  slaves  the  songs  of  freemen, 
That  the  storm  was  heard  but  faintly. 
Knocking  at  the  castle-gates. 

Till  at  length  the  lays  they  chaunted 
Eeached  the  chamber  terror-haunted, 
Where  the  monk,  with  accents  holy. 
Whispered  at  the  baron's  ear. 

Tears  upon  his  eyelids  glistened, 
As  he  paused  awhile  and  listened. 
And  the  dying  baron  slowly 

Turned  his  weary  head  to  hear. 

"  Wassail  for  the  kingly  stranger 
Born  and  cradled  in  a  manger! 
King,  like  David,  priest,  like  Aaron, 
Christ  is  born  to  set  us  free!  " 

And  the  lightning  showed  the  sainted 
Figures  on  the  casement  painted, 
And  exclaimed  the  shuddering  baron, 
'^  Miserere,  Domine! " 

In  that  hour  of  deep  contrition. 
He  beheld,  with  clearer  vision. 
Through  all  outward  show  and  fashion. 
Justice,  the  Avenger,  rise. 

All  the  pomp  of  earth  had  vanished. 
Falsehood  and  deceit  were  banished, 
Eeason  spake  more  loud  than  passion. 
And  the  truth  wore  no  disguise. 


RAIN   IN   SUMMER.  91 

Every  vassal  of  his  banner, 
Every  serf  born  to  their  manor. 
All  those  wronged  and  wretched  creatures, 
By  his  hand  were  freed  again. 

And,  as  on  the  sacred  missal 
He  recorded  their  dismissal. 
Death  relaxed  his  iron  features. 

And  the  monk  replied,  "  Amen!  " 

Many  centuries  have  been  numbered 
Since  in  death  the  baron  slumbered 
By  the  convent's  sculptured  portal, 
Mingling  with  the  common  dust: 

But  the  good  deed,  through  the  ages 
Living  in  historic  pages, 
Brighter  grows  and  gleams  immortal, 
Unconsumed  by  moth  or  rust. 


EAIN   IN   SUMMEK. 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain! 

After  the  dust  and  heat. 

In  the  broad  and  fiery  street, 

In  the  narrow  lane. 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain! 

How  it  clatters  along  the  roofs, 

Like  the  tramp  of  hoofs! 

How  it  gushes  and  struggles  out 

From  the  throat  of  the  overflowing  spout! 

Across  the  window  pane 


92  RAIN  IN  SUMMER. 

It  pours  and  pours; 

And  swift  and  wide. 

With  a  muddy  tide. 

Like  a  river  down  the  gutter  roars 

The  rain,  the  welcome  rain! 

The  sick  man  from  his  chamber  looks 

At  the  twisted  brooks; 

He  can  feel  the  cool 

Breath  of  each  little  pool; 

His  fevered  brain 

Grows  calm  again. 

And  he  breathes  a  blessing  on  the  rain. 

From  the  neighboring  school 

Come  the  boys. 

With  more  than  their  wonted  noise 

And  commotion; 

And  down  the  wet  streets 

Sail  their  mimic  fleets, 

Till  the  treacherous  pool 

Engulfs  them  in  its  whirling 

And  turbulent  ocean. 

In  the  country,  on  every  side. 

Where  far  and  wide, 

Like  a  leopard's  tawny  and  spotted  hide 

Stretches  the  plain. 

To  the  dry  grass  and  the  drier  grain 

How  welcome  is  the  rain! 

In  the  furrowed  land 
The  toilsome  and  patient  oxen  stand; 
Lifting  the  yoke-encumbered  head, 
With  their  dilated  nostrils  spread, 


RAIN   IN   SUMMER.  93 

They  silently  inhale 

The  clover-scented  gale, 

And  the  vapors  that  arise 

From  the  well-watered  and  smoking  soil; 

For  this  rest  in  the  furrow  after  toil 

Their  large  and  lustrous  eyes 

Seem  to  thank  the  Lord, 

More  than  man's  spoken  word. 

Near  at  hand. 

From  under  the  sheltering  trees. 

The  farmer  sees 

His  pastures,  and  his  fields  of  grain. 

As  they  bend  their  tops 

To  the  numberless  beating  drops 

Of  the  incessant  rain. 

He  counts  it  as  no  sin 

That  he  sees  therein 

Only  his  own  thrift  and  gain. 

These,  and  far  more  than  these. 

The  Poet  sees! 

He  can  behold 

Aquarius  old 

Walking  the  fenceless  fields  of  air; 

And  from  each  ample  fold 

Of  the  clouds  about  him  rolled 

Scattering  everywhere 

The  showery  rain, 

As  the  farmer  scatters  his  grain. 

He  can  behold 

Things  manifold 

That  have  not  yet  been  wholly  told, 


94:  RAIN   IN   SUMMER. 

Have  not  been  wholly  sung  nor  said. 

For  his  thought,  that  never  stops. 

Follows  the  water-drops 

Down  to  the  graves  of  the  dead, 

Down  through  chasms  and  gulfs  profound. 

To  the  dreary  fountain-head 

Of  lakes  and  rivers  under  ground; 

And  sees  them,  when  the  rain  is  done. 

On  the  bridge  of  colors  seven 

Climbing  up  once  more  to  heaven. 

Opposite  the  setting  sun. 

Thus  the  Seer, 

With  vision  clear. 

Sees  forms  appear  and  disappear. 

In  the  perpetual  round  of  strange. 

Mysterious  change 

From  birth  to  death,  from  death  to  birth, 

From  earth  to  heaven,  from  heaven  to  earth; 

Till  glimpses  more  sublime 

Of  things,  unseen  before. 

Unto  his  wondering  eyes  reveal 

The  Universe,  as  an  immeasurable  wheel 

Turning  for  evermore 

In  the  rapid  and  rushing  river  of  Time. 


THE   BEIDGE. 

I  STOOD  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, 
As  the  clocks  were  striking  the  hour, 

And  the  moon  rose  o'er  the  city. 
Behind  the  dark  church-tower. 


THE   BRIDGE.  d5 

I  saw  her  bright  reflection 

In  the  waters  under  me. 
Like  a  golden  goblet  falling 

And  sinking  into  the  sea. 

And  far  in  the  hazy  distance 

Of  that  lovely  night  in  June, 
The  blaze  of  the  flaming  furnace 

Gleamed  redder  than  the  moon. 

Among  the  long,  black  rafters 

The  wavering  shadows  lay. 
And  the  current  that  came  from  the  ocean 

Seemed  to  lift  and  bear  them  away; 

As,  sweeping  and  eddying  through  them, 

Eose  the  belated  tide. 
And,  streaming  into  the  moonlight. 

The  seaweed  floated  wide. 

And  like  those  waters  rushing 

Among  the  wooden  piers, 
A  flood  of  thoughts  came  o'er  me 

That  filled  my  eyes  with  tears. 

How  often,  0,  how  often, 

In  the  days  that  had  gone  by, 
I  had  stood  on  that  bridge  at  midnight, 

And  gazed  on  that  wave  and  sky! 

How  often,  0,  how  often, 

I  had  wished  that  the  ebbing  tide 
Would  bear  me  away  on  its  bosom 

O'er  the  ocean  wild  and  wide! 


96  THE   BRIDGE. 

For  my  heart  was  hot  and  restless. 
And  my  life  was  full  of  care. 

And  the  burden  laid  upon  me 

Seemed  greater  than  I  could  bear. 

But  now  it  has  fallen  from  me, 

It  is  buried  in  the  sea; 
And  only  the  sorrow  of  others 

Throws  its  shadow  over  me. 

Yet  whenever  I  cross  the  river 
On  its  bridge  with  wooden  piers, 

Like  the  odor  of  brine  from  the  ocean 
Comes  the  thought  of  other  years. 

And  I  think  how  many  thousands 
Of  care-encumbered  men. 

Each  bearing  his  burden  of  sorrow, 
Have  crossed  the  bridge  since  then. 

I  see  the  long  procession 

Still  passing  to  and  fro. 
The  young  heart  hot  and  restless. 

And  the  old  subdued  and  slow! 

And  forever  and  forever, 
As  long  as  the  river  flows. 

As  long  as  the  heart  has  passions. 
As  long  as  life  has  woes; 

The  moon  and  its  broken  reflection 
And  its  shadows  shall  appear, 

As  the  symbol  of  love  in  heaven. 
And  its  wavering  image  here. 


SEAWEED.  97 


SEAWEED. 

When  descends  on  the  Atlantic 

The  gigantic 
Storm-wind  of  the  equinox, 
Landward  in  his  wrath  he  scourges 

The  toiling  surges, 
Laden  with  seaweed  from  the  rocks: 

From  Bermuda's  reefs;  from  edges 

Of  sunken  ledges, 
In  some  far-off,  bright  Azore; 
From  Bahama,  and  the  dashing. 

Silver-flashing 
Surges  of  San  Salvador; 

From  the  tumbling  surf,  that  buries 

The  Orkneyan  skerries. 
Answering  the  hoarse  Hebrides; 
And  from  wrecks  of  ships,  and  drifting 

Si3ars,  uplifting 
On  the  desolate,  rainy  seas; — 

Ever  drifting,  drifting,  drifting 

On  the  shifting 
Currents  of  the  restless  main; 
Till  in  sheltered  coves,  and  reaches 

Of  sandy  beaches. 
All  have  found  repose  again. 

So  when  storms  of  wild  emotion 

Strike  the  ocean 
Of  the  poet's  soul,  ere  long 
7 


98  THE  DAY  IS  BONE. 

From  each  cave  and  rocky  fastness. 

In  its  vastness, 
Floats  some  fragment  of  a  song: 

From  the  far-off  isles  enchanted. 

Heaven  has  planted 
With  the  golden  fruit  of  Truth; 
From  the  flashing  surf,  whose  vision 

Gleams  Elysian 
In  the  tropic  clime  of  Youth; 

From  the  strong  Will,  and  the  Endeavor 

That  forever 
Wrestles  with  the  tides  of  Fate; 
From  the  wreck  of  Hopes  far-scattered. 

Tempest-shattered, 
Floating  waste  and  desolate; — 

Ever  drifting,  drifting,  drifting 

On  the  shifting 
Currents  of  the  restless  heart; 
Till  at  length  in  books  recorded. 

They,  like  hoarded 
Household  words,  no  more  depart. 

THE   DAY   IS   DONE. 

The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 
Falls  from  the  wings  of  Night, 

As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 

I  see  the  lights  of  the  village 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  the  mist. 

And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me. 
That  my  soul  cannot  resist: 


THE  DAT  IS  DONE.  99 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing. 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 

As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain. 

Come,  read  to  me  some  poem. 

Some  simple  and  heartfelt  lay. 
That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling. 

And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

!N"ot  from  the  grand  old  masters, 

Not  from  the  bards  snblime, 
Whose  distant  footsteps  echo 

Through  the  corridors  of  Time. 

For,  like  strains  of  martial  music. 

Their  mighty  thoughts  suggest 
Life's  endless  toil  and  endeavor; 

And  to-night  I  long  for  rest. 

Read  from  some  humbler  poet, 

Whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart, 

As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer. 
Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start; 

Who,  through  long  days  of  labor. 

And  nights  devoid  of  ease. 
Still  heard  in  his  soul  the  music 

Of  wonderful  melodies. 

Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care. 
And  come  like  the  benediction 

That  follows  after  prayer. 


100  THE   OLD   CLOCK   ON   THE  STAIES. 

Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 

The  poem  of  thy  choice, 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 

The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 
And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day, 

Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently,  steal  away. 


THE  AREOW  AND  THE  SONG. 

I  SHOT  an  arrow  into  the  air. 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where; 
For,  so  swiftly  it  flew,  the  sight 
Could  not  follow  it  in  its  flight. 

I  breathed  a  song  into  the  air. 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where; 
For  who  has  sight  so  keen  and  strong. 
That  it  can  follow  the  flight  of  song? 

Long,  long  afterward,  in  an  oak 
I  found  the  arrow,  still  unbroke; 
And  the  song,  from  beginning  to  end, 
I  found  again  in  the  heart  of  a  friend. 


THE  OLD  CLOCK  ON  THE  STAIES. 

Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 
Stands  the  old-fashioned  country-seat. 
Across  its  antique  portico 
Tall  poplar-trees  their  shadows  throw. 


THE  OLD  CLOCK  ON  THE  STAIKS.         101 

And  from  its  station  in  the  hall 
An  ancient  timepiece  says  to  all, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Xever — forever!  ^^ 

Halfway  up  the  stairs  it  stands, 
And  points  and  beckons  with  its  hands 
From  its  case  of  massive  oak, 
Like  a  monk,  who,  under  his  cloak. 
Crosses  himself,  and  sighs,  alas! 
With  sorrowful  voice  to  all  who  pass, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Never — forever!  '^ 

By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light; 
But  in  the  silent  dead  of  night. 
Distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall. 
It  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall. 
Along  the  ceiling,  along  the  floor. 
And  seems  to  say,  at  each  chamber-door, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

Through  days  of  sorrow  and  of  mirth, 
Through  days  of  death  and  days  of  birth. 
Through  every  swift  viscissitude 
Of  changeful  time,  unchanged  it  has  stood. 
And  as  if,  like  God,  it  all  things  saw. 
It  calmly  repeats  those  words  of  awe, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

In  that  mansion  used  to  b« 
Free-hearted  Hospitality; 
His  great  fires  up  the  chimney  roared; 
The  strangej"  feasted  at  his  board; 


102  THE   OLD   CLOCK  ON   THE  STAIRS. 

But,  like  the  skeleton  at  the  feast, 
That  warning  timepiece  never  ceased, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

There  groups  of  merry  children  played, 
There  youths  and  maidens  dreaming  strayed; 
0  precious  hours!     0  golden  prime. 
And  affluence  of  love  and  time! 
Even  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold, 
Those  hours  the  ancient  timepiece  told, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Never — forever!  '^ 

From  that  chamber,  clothed  in  white, 
The  bride  came  forth  on  her  wedding  night; 
There,  in  that  silent  room  below, 
The  dead  lay  in  his  shroud  of  snow; 
And  in  the  hush  that  followed  the  prayer. 
Was  heard  the  old  clock  on  the  stair, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

All  are  scattered  now  and  fled, 
Some  are  married,  some  are  dead; 
And  when  I  ask,  with  throbs  of  pain, 
'^Ah!   when  shall  they  all  meet  again?  ^^ 
As  in  the  days  long  since  gone  by, 
The  ancient  timepiece  makes  reply, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Never — forever! '' 

^  Never  here,  forever  there. 
Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care. 
And  death,  and  time  shall  disappear, — 
Forever  there,,  but  never  \^e'i'^\ 


THE   BUILDING  OF  THE   SHIP.  103 

The  horologe  of  Eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly, — 
"  Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP. 

"Build  me  straight,  0  worthy  Master! 

Staunch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel, 
That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster. 

And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle! '' 

The  merchant's  word 

Delighted  the  Master  heard; 

For  his  heart  was  in  his  work,  and  the  heart 

Giveth  grace  unto  every  Art. 

A  quiet  smile  played  round  his. lips. 

As  the  eddies  and  dimples  of  the  tide 

Play  round  the  bows  of  ships. 

That  steadily  at  anchor  ride. 

And  with  a  voice  that  was  full  of  glee, 

He  answered,  "  Ere  long  we  will  launch 

A  vessel  as  goodly,  and  strong,  and  staunch. 

As  ever  weathered  a  wintry  sea!  " 

And  first  with  nicest  skill  and  art. 
Perfect  and  finished  in  every  part, 
A  little  model  the  Master  wrought. 
Which  should  be  to  the  larger  plan 
What  the  child  is  to  the  man, 
Its  counterpart  in  miniature; 
That  with  a  hand  more  swift  and  sure 
The  greater  labor  might  be  brought 
To  answer  to  his  inward  thought. 


104  THE   BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP. 

And  as  he  labored,  his  mind  ran  o'er 

The  various  ships  that  were  built  of  yore, 

And  above  them  all,  and  strangest  of  all 

Towered  the  Great  Harry,  crank  and  tall. 

Whose  picture  was  hanging  on  the  wall. 

With  bows  and  stern  raised  high  in  air. 

And  balconies  hanging  here  and  there, 

And  signal  lanterns  and  flags  afloat, 

And  eight  round  towers,  like  those  that  frown 

From  some  old  castle,  looking  down 

Upon  the  drawbridge  and  the  moat. 

And  he  said  with  a  smile,  "  Our  ship,  I  wis, 

Shall  be  of  another  form  than  this! " 

It  was  of  another  form,  indeed; 

Built  for  freight,  and  yet  for  speed, 

A  beautiful  and  gallant  craft; 

Broad  in  the  beam,  that  the  stress  of  the  blast 

Pressing  down  upon  sail  and  mast. 

Might  not  the  sharp  bows  overwhelm; 

Broad  in  the  beam,  but  sloping  aft 

With  graceful  curve  and  slow  degrees. 

That  she  might  be  docile  to  the  helm. 

And  that  the  currents  of  parted  seas. 

Closing  behind,  with  mighty  force. 

Might  aid  and  not  impede  her  course. 

In  the  shipyard  stood  the  Master, 

With  the  model  of  the  vessel. 
That  should  laugh  at  all  disaster, 

And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle! 

Covering  many  a  rood  of  ground, 
Lay  the  timber  piled  around; 
Timber  of  chestnut,  and  elm,  and  oak, 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP.  105 

And  scattered  here  and  there^,  with  these. 

The  knarred  and  crooked  cedar  knees; 

Brought  from  regions  far  away. 

From  Pascagoula's  sunny  bay, 

And  the  banks  of  the  roaring  Eoanoke! 

Ah!  what  a  wondrous  thing  it  is 

To  note  liow  many  wheels  of  toil 

One  thought,  one  word,  can  set  in  motion! 

There's  not  a  ship  that  sails  the  ocean, 

But  every  climate,  every  soil, 

Must  bring  its  tribute,  great  or  small. 

And  help  to  build  the  wooden  wall! 

The  sun  was  rising  o'er  the  sea. 
And  long  the  level  shadows  lay, 
As  if  they,  too,  the  beams  would  be 
Of  some  great,  airy  argosy. 
Framed  and  launched  in  a  single  day. 
That  silent  architect,  the  sun, 
Had  hewn  and  laid  them  every  one, 
Ere  the  work  of  man  was  yet  begun. 
Beside  the  Master,  when  he  spoke, 
A  youth,  against  an  anchor  leaning, 
Listened,  to  catch  his  slightest  meaning. 
Only  the  long  waves,  as  they  broke 
In  ripples  on  the  pebbly  beach. 
Interrupted  the  old  man's  speech. 

Beautiful  they  were,  in  sooth. 
The  old  man  and  the  fiery  youth! 
The  old  man,  in  whose  busy  brain 
Many  a  ship  that  sailed  the  main 
Was  modelled  o'er  and  o'er  again; — 
The  fiery  youth,  who  was  to  be 


106  THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP. 

The  heir  of  his  dexterity. 
The  heir  of  his  house,  and  his  daughter's  hand. 
When  he  had  built  and  launched  from  land 
What  the  elder  head  had  planned. 

"  Thus/'  said  he,  "  will  we  build  this  ship! 

Lay  square  the  blocks  upon  the  slip, 

And  follow  well  this  plan  of  mine. 

Choose  the  timbers  with  greatest  care; 

Of  all  that  is  unsound  beware; 

For  only  what  is  sound  and  strong 

To  this  vessel  shall  belong. 

Cedar  of  Maine  and  Georgia  pine 

Here  together  shall  combine. 

A  goodly  frame,  and  a  goodly  fame. 

And  the  Union  be  her  name! 

For  the  day  that  gives  her  to  the  sea 

Shall  give  my  daughter  unto  thee! " 

The  Master's  word 

Enraptured  the  young  man  heard; 

And  as  he  turned  his  face  aside, 

With  a  look  of  joy  and  a  thrill  of  pride 

Standing  before 

Her  father's  door, 

He  saw  the  form  of  his  promised  bride. 

The  sun  shone  on  her  golden  hair, 

And  her  cheek  was  glowing  fresh  and  fair. 

With  the  breath  of  morn  and  the  soft  sea  air. 

Like  a  beauteous  barge  was  she. 

Still  at  rest  on  the  sandy  beach, 

Just  beyond  the  billow's  reach; 

But  he 

Was  the  restless,  seething,  stormy  sea! 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP.  107 

Ah,  how  skilful  grows  the  hand 
That  obeyeth  Love's  command! 
It  is  the  heart,  and  not  the  brain. 
That  to  the  highest  doth  attain. 
And  he  who  followeth  Love's  behest 
Far  exceedeth  all  the  rest! 

Thus  with  the  rising  of  the  sun 

Was  the  noble  task  begun. 

And  soon  throughout  the  shipyard's  bounds 

Were  heard  the  intermingled  sounds 

Of  axes  and  of  mallets,  plied 

With  vigorous  arms  on  every  side; 

Plied  so  deftly  and  so  well. 

That,  ere  the  shadows  of  evening  fell. 

The  keel  of  oak  for  a  noble  ship, 

Scarfed  and  bolted,  straight  and  strong, 

Was  lying  ready,  and  stretched  along 

The  blocks,  well  placed  upon  the  slip. 

Happy,  thrice  happy,  every  one 

Who  sees  his  labor  w^ell  begun. 

And  not  perplexed  and  multiplied. 

By  idly  waiting  for  time  and  tide! 

And  when  the  hot,  long  day  was  o'er. 
The  young  man  at  the  Master's  door 
Sat  with  the  maiden  calm  and  still. 
And  within  the  porch,  a  little  more 
Eemoved  beyond  the  evening  chill. 
The  father  sat,  and  told  them  tales 
Of  wrecks  in  the  great  September  gales, 
Of  pirates  upon  the  Spanish  Main, 
And  ships  that  never  came  back  again, 
The  chance  and  change  of  a  sailor's  life. 
Want  and  plenty,  rest  and  strife. 


108  THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP. 

His  roving  fancy,  like  the  wind, 
That  nothing  can  stay  and  nothing  can  bind. 
And  the  magic  charm  of  foreign  lands, 
With  shadows  of  palms,  and  shining  sands. 
Where  the  tumbling  surf. 
O'er  the  coral  reefs  of  Madagascar, 
Washes  the  feet  of  the  swarthy  Lascar, 
As  he  lies  alone  and  asleep  on  the  turf. 
And  the  trembling  maiden  held  her  breath 
At  the  tales  of  that  awful,  pitiless  sea. 
With  all  its  terror  and  mystery, 
The  dim,  dark  sea,  so  like  unto  Death, 
That  divides  and  yet  unites  mankind! 
And  whenever  the  old  man  paused,  a  gleam 
From  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  would  awhile  illume 
The  silent  group  in  the  twilight  gloom, 
'    And  thoughtful  faces,  as  in  a  dream; 
And  for  a  moment  one  might  mark 
What  had  been  hidden  by  the  dark. 
That  the  head  of  the  maiden  lay  at  rest. 
Tenderly,  on  the  young  man's  breast! 

Day  by  day  the  vessel  grew. 

With  timbers  fashioned  strong  and  true, 

Stemson  and  keelson  and  sternson-knee, 

Till,  framed  with  perfect  symmetry, 

A  skeleton  ship  rose  up  to  view! 

And  around  the  bows  and  along  the  side 

The  heavy  hammers  and  mallets  plied, 

Till,  after  many  a  week,  at  length, 

Wonderful  for  form  and  strength. 

Sublime  in  its  enormous  bulk, 

Loomed  aloft  the  shadowy  hulk! 

And  around  it  columns  of  smoke,  upwreathing, 


THE   BUILDING   OF  THE   SHIP.  109 

Kose  from  the  boiling,  bubbling,  seething 

Caldron,  that  glowed, 

And  overflowed 

With  the  black  tar,  heated  for  the  sheathing. 

And  amid  the  clamors 

Of  clattering  hammers. 

He  who  listened  heard  now  and  then 

The  song  of  the  Master  and  his  men: — 

"  Build  me  straight,  0  worthy  Master, 

Staunch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel, 
That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster. 

And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle! '' 

With  oaken  brace  and  copper  band. 

Lay  the  rudder  on  the  sand. 

That,  like  a  thought,  should  have  control 

Over  the  movement  of  the  whole; 

And  near  it  the  anchor,  whose  giant  hand 

Would  reach  down  and  grapple  with  the  land. 

And  immovable  and  fast 

Hold  the  great  ship  against  the  bellowing  blast! 

And  at  the  bows  an  image  stood, 

By  a  cunning  artist  carved  in  wood, 

With  robes  of  white,  that  far  behind 

Seemed  to  be  fluttering  in  the  wind. 

It  was  not  shaped  in  a  classic  mould, 

N'ot  like  a  Nymph  or  Goddess  of  old. 

Or  Naiad  rising  from  the  water. 

But  modelled  from  the  Master's  daughter! 

On  many  a  dreary  and  misty  night, 

'Twill  be  seen  by  the  rays  of  the  signal  light. 

Speeding  along  through  the  rain  and  the  dark. 

Like  a  ghost  in  its  snow-white  sark, 


110  THE  BUILDING   OF  THE   SHIP. 

The  pilot  of  some  phantom  bark, 

Guiding  the  vessel,  in  its  flight, 

By  a  path  none  other  knows  aright! 

Behold,  at  last, 

Each  tall  and  tapering  mast 

Is  swung  into  its  place; 

Shrouds  and  stays 

Holding  it  firm  and  fast! 

Long  ago. 

In  the  deer-haunted  forests  of  Maine, 

When  upon  mountain  and  plain 

Lay  the  snow, 

They  fell, — those  lordly  pines! 

Those  grand,  majestic  pines! 

Mid  shouts  and  cheers 

The  jaded  steers. 

Panting  beneath  the  goad. 

Dragged  down  the  weary,  winding  road 

Those  captive  kings  so  straight  and  tall. 

To  be  shorn  of  their  streaming  hair, 

A.nd,  naked  and  bare. 

To  feel  the  stress  and  the  strain 

Of  the  wind  and  the  reeling  main. 

Whose  roar 

Would  remind  them  for  evermore 

Of  their  native  forests  they  should  not  see  again. 

And  everywhere 

The  slender,  graceful  spars 

Poise  aloft  in  the  air. 

And  at  the  mast  head. 

White,  blue,  and  red, 

A  flag  unrolls  the  stripes  and  stars. 


THE  BUILDIKG  OF  THE   SHIP.  HI 

Ah,  when  the  wanderer,  lonely,  friendless. 

In  foreign  harbors  shall  behold 

That  flag  unrolled, 

'Twill  be  as  a  friendly  hand 

Stretched  out  from  his  native  land, 

Filling  his  heart  with  memories  sweet  and  endless! 

All  is  finished!   and  at  length 

Has  come  the  bridal  day 

Of  beauty  and  of  strength. 

To-day  the  vessel  shall  be  launched! 

With  fleecy  clouds  the  sky  is  blanched. 

And  o'er  the  bay. 

Slowly,  in  all  his  splendors  dight, 

The  great  sun  rises  to  behold  the  sight. 

The  ocean  old. 

Centuries  old. 

Strong  as  youth,  and  as  uncontrolled. 

Paces  restless  to  and  fro, 

Up  and  down  the  sands  of  gold. 

His  beating  heart  is  not  at  rest; 

And  far  and  wide. 

With  ceaseless  flow. 

His  beard  of  snow 

Heaves  with  the  heaving  of  his  breast. 

He  waits  impatient  for  his  bride. 

There  she  stands. 

With  her  foot  upon  the  sands. 

Decked  with  flags  and  streamers  gay. 

In  honor  of  her  marriage  day, 

Her  snow-white  signals  fluttering,  blending, 

Eound  her  like  a  veil  descending, 

Eeady  to  be 

The  bride  of  the  gray,  old  sea. 


112  THE  BUILDING   OF  THE  SHIP. 

On  the  deck  another  bride 
Is  standing  by  her  lover's  side. 
Shadows  from  the  flags  and  shrouds. 
Like  the  shadows  cast  by  clouds. 
Broken  by  many  a  sunny  fleck, 
Fall  around  them  on  the  deck. 


The  prayer  is  said, 

The  service  read, 

The  joyous  bridegroom  bows  his  head. 

And  in  tears  the  good  old  Master 

Shakes  the  brown  hand  of  his  son. 

Kisses  his  daughter's  glowing  cheek 

In  silence,  for  he  cannot  speak. 

And  ever  faster 

Down  his  own  the  tears  begin  to  run. 

The  worthy  pastor — 

The  shepherd  of  that  wandering  flock. 

That  has  the  ocean  for  its  wold. 

That  has  the  vessel  for  its  fold. 

Leaping  ever  from  rock  to  rock — 

Spake,  with  accents  mild  and  clear, 

Words  of  warning,  words  of  cheer. 

But  tedious  to  the  bridegroom's  ear. 

He  knew  the  chart 

Of  the  sailor's  heart. 

All  its  pleasures  and  its  griefs, 

All  its  shallows  and  rocky  reefs, 

All  those  secret  currents,  that  flow 

With  such  resistless  undertow, 

And  lift  and  drift,  with  terrible  force. 

The  will  from  its  moorings  and  its  course. 

Therefore  he  spake,  and  thus  said  he: — 


THE   BUILDING  OF  THE   SHIP.  113 

"  Like  unto  ships  far  off  at  sea, 

Outward  or  homeward  bound,  are  we. 

Before,  behind,  and  all  around, 

Floats  and  swings  the  horizon's  bound. 

Seems  at  its  distant  rim  to  rise 

And  climb  the  crystal  wall  of  the  skies. 

And  then  again  to  turn  and  sink. 

As  if  we  could  slide  from  its  outer  brink. 

Ah!   it  is  not  the  sea. 

It  is  not  the  sea  that  sinks  and  shelves, 

But  ourselves 

That  rock  and  rise 

With  endless  and  uneasy  motion, 

Xow  touching  the  very  skies, 

Now  sinking  into  the  depths  of  ocean. 

Ah!   if  our  souls  but  poise  and  swing 

Like  the  compass  in  its  brazen  ring. 

Ever  level  and  ever  true 

To  the  toil  and  the  task  we  have  to  do, 

We  shall  sail  securely,  and  safely  reach 

The  Fortunate  Isles,  on  whose  shining  beach 

The  sights  we  see,  and  the  sounds  we  hear, 

Will  be  those  of  joy  and  not  of  fear!  " 

Then  the  Master, 
With  a  gesture  of  command, 
Waved  his  hand; 
And  at  the  word. 

Loud  and  sudden  there  was  heard. 
All  around  them  and  below. 
The  sound  of  hammers,  blow  on  blow, 
Knocking  away  the  shores  and  spurs. 
And  see!   she  stirs! 

She  starts, — she  moves, — she  seems  to  feel 
8 


114  THE   BUILDING  OF   THE  SHIP. 

The  thrill  of  life  along  her  keel, 
And,  spurning  with  her  foot  the  ground, 
With  one  exulting,  joyous  bound. 
She  leaps  into  the  ocean's  arms! 

And  lo !  from  the  assembled  crowd 
There  rose  a  shout,  prolonged  and  loud, 
That  to  the  ocean  seemed  to  say, — 
"  Take  her,  0  bridegroom,  old  and  gray. 
Take  her  to  thy  protecting  arms, 
With  all  her  youth  and  all  her  charms!  " 

How  beautiful  she  is!    How  fair 
She  lies  within  those  arms,  that  press 
Her  form  with  many  a  soft  caress 
Of  tenderness  and  watchful  care! 
Sail  forth  into  the  sea,  0  ship! 
Through  wind  and  wave,  right  onward  steer! 
The  moistened  eye,  the  trembling  lip. 
Are  not  the  signs  of  doubt  or  fear. 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea  of  life, 
0  gentle,  loving,  trusting  wife. 
And  safe  from  all  adversity 
Upon  the  bosom  of  that  sea 
Thy  comings  and  thy  goings  be! 
For  gentleness  and  love  and  trust 
Prevail  o'er  angry  wave  and  gust; 
And  in  the  wreck  of  noble  lives 
Something  immortal  still  survives! 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  0  Ship  of  State! 
Sail  on,  0  Union,  strong  and  great! 
Humanity  with  all  its  fears, 
With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate! 


SIR  HUMPHREY   GILBERT.  115 

We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 

What  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel. 

Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope. 

What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat. 

In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 

Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope! 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 

'Tis  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock; 

^Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail. 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale! 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar. 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore. 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee, 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee, — are  all  with  thee! 


SIE  HUMPHREY  GILBERT. 

Southward  with  fleet  of  ice 

Sailed  the  corsair  Death; 
Wild  and  fast  blew  the  blast. 

And  the  east-wind  was  his  breath. 

His  lordly  ships  of  ice 

Glistened  in  the  sun; 
On  each  side,  like  pennons  wide. 

Flashing  crystal  streamlets  run. 

His  sails  of  white  sea-mist 

Dripped  with  silver  rain ; 
But  when  he  passed  there  were  cast 

Leaden  shadows  o'er  the  main. 


116  SIR  HUMPHREY   GILBERT. 

Eastward  from  Campobello 
Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  sailed; 

Three  days  or  more  seaward  he  bore, 
Then,  alas!  the  land-wind  failed. 

Alas!  the  land-wind  failed. 
And  ice-cold  grew  the  night; 

And  never  more,  on  sea  or  shore, 
Should  Sir  Humphrey  see  the  light. 


He  sat  upon  the  deck. 
The  Book  was  in  his  hand; 
Do  not  fear!     Heaven  is  as  near,'^ 
He  said,  "  by  water  as  by  land!  " 


a 


In  the  first  watch  of  the  night, 

Without  a  signal's  sound. 
Out  of  the  sea,  mysteriously, 

The  fleet  of  Death  rose  all  around. 

The  moon  and  the  evening  star 
Were  hanging  in  the  shrouds; 

Every  mast,  as  it  passed. 

Seemed  to  rake  the  passing  clouds. 

They  grappled  with  their  prize, 
At  midnight  black  and  cold! 

As  of  a  rock  was  the  shock; 

Heavily  the  ground-swell  rolled. 

Southward  through  day  and  dark, 
They  drift  in  close  embrace, 

With  mist  and  rain  to  the  Spanish  Main; 
Yet  there  seems  no  change  of  place. 


THE  FIRE   OF  DRIFT-WOOD,  117 

Southward,  forever  southward. 

They  drift  through  dark  and  day; 
And  like  a  dream,  in  the  Gulf-Stream 

Sinking,  vanish  all  away. 


THE  FIRE  OF  DEIFT-WOOD. 

We  sat  within  the  farmhouse  old, 
Whose  windows,  looking  o'er  the  bay. 

Gave  to  the  sea-breeze,  damp  and  cold, 
An  easy  entrance,  night  and  day. 

Not  far  away  we  saw  the  port, — 

The  strange,  old-fashioned,  silent  town, — 
The  lighthouse, — the  dismantled  fort, — 

The  wooden  houses,  quaint  and  brown. 

We  sat  and  talked  until  the  night. 
Descending,  filled  the  little  room; 

Our  faces  faded  from  the  sight. 
Our  voices  only  broke  the  gloom. 

We  spake  of  many  a  vanished  scene. 
Of  what  we  once  had  thought  and  said. 

Of  what  had  been,  and  might  have  been. 
And  who  was  changed,  and  who  was  dead; 

And  all  that  fills  the  hearts  of  friends. 
When  first  they  feel,  with  secret  pain. 

Their  lives  thenceforth  have  separate  ends. 
And  never  can  be  one  again; 


118  THE   FIRE   OF   DEIFT-WOOD. 

The  first  slight  swerving  of  the  heart, 
That  words  are  powerless  to  express, 

And  leave  it  still  unsaid  in  part, 
Or  say  it  in  too  great  excess. 

The  very  tones  in  which  we  spake 

Had  something  strange,  I  could  but  mark; 

The  leaves  of  memory  seemed  to  make 
A  mournful  rustling  in  the  dark. 

Oft  died  the  words  upon  our  lips. 

As  suddenly,  from  out  the  fire 
Built  of  the  wreck  of  stranded  ships, 

The  flames  would  leap  and  then  expire. 

And,  as  their  splendor  flashed  and  failed. 
We  thought  of  wrecks  upon  the  main, — 

Of  ships  dismasted,  that  were  hailed 
And  sent  no  answer  back  again. 

The  windows,  rattling  in  their  frames, — 
The  ocean,  roaring  up  the  beach, — 

The  gusty  blast, — the  bickering  flames, — 
All  mingled  vaguely  in  our  speech; 

Until  they  made  themselves  a  part 

Of  fancies  floating  through  the  brain, — 

The  long-lost  ventures  of  the  heart. 
That  send  no  answers  back  again. 

0  flames  that  glowed — 0  hearts  that  yearned  I 
They  were  indeed  too  much  akin, 

The  drift-wood  fire  without  that  burned. 

The  thoughts  that  burned  and  glowed  within. 


KESIGNATION.  119 


EESIGNATION. 

There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended,^ 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there! 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  has  one  vacant  chair! 

The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying. 

And  mournings  for  the  dead; 
The  heart  of  Eachel,  for  her  children  crying, 

Will  not  be  comforted! 

Let  us  be  patient!     These  severe  afflictions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise. 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 

Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors 

Amid  these  earthly  damps; 
What  seems  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers 

May  be  heaven^s  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  Death !     What  seems  so  is  transition. 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  elysian, 

Whose  portal  we  call  Death. 

She  is  not  dead, — the  child  of  our  affection, — 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 


120  RESIGNATION. 

In  that  great  cloister's  stillness  and  seclusion, 

By  guardian  angels  led, 
Safe  from  temptation,  safe  from  sin's  pollution, 

She  lives,  whom  we  call  dead. 

Day  after  day  we  think  what  she  is  doing 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing, 

Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep  unbroken 

The  bond  which  nature  gives. 
Thinking  that  our  remembrance,  though  unspoken, 

May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her; 

For  when  with  raptures  wild 
In  our  embraces  we  again  enfold  her. 

She  will  not  be  a  child; 

But  a  fair  maiden,  in  her  Father's  mansion. 

Clothed  with  celestial  grace; 
And  beautiful  with  all  the  soul's  expansion 

Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

And  though  at  times  impetuous  with  emotion 

And  anguish  long  suppressed, 
The  swelling  heart  heaves  moaning  like  the  ocean, 

That  cannot  be  at  rest, — 

"We  will  be  patient,  and  assuage  the  feeling 

We  may  not  wholly  stay; 
By  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing. 

The  grief  that  must  have  way. 


THE  LADDER   OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  121 


THE  LADDEE  OF  ST.  AUGUSTINE. 

Saint  Augustine!  well  hast  thou  said. 
That  of  our  vices  we  can  frame 

A  ladder,  if  we  will  but  tread 

Beneath  our  feet  each  deed  of  shame! 

All  common  things,  each  day's  events, 
That  with  the  hour  begin  and  end. 

Our  pleasures  and  our  discontents, 
Are  rounds  by  which  we  may  ascend. 

The  low  desire,  the  base  design. 
That  makes  another's  virtues  less; 

The  revel  of  the  ruddy  wine, 
And  all  occasions  of  excess; 

The  longing  for  ignoble  things; 

The  strife  for  triumph  more  than  truth; 
The  hardening  of  the  heart,  that  brings 

Irreverence  for  the  dreams  of  youth; 

All  thoughts  of  ill;  all  evil  deeds, 

That  have  their  root  in  thoughts  of  ill; 

Whatever  hinders  or  impedes 
The  action  of  the  nobler  will; — 

All  these  must  first  be  trampled  down 
Beneath  our  feet,  if  we  would  gain 

In  the  bright  fields  of  fair  renown 
The  right  of  eminent  domain. 

We  have  not  wings,  we  cannot  soar; 

But  we  have  feet  to  scale  and  climb 
By  slow  degrees,  by  more  and  more. 

The  cloudy  summits  of  our  time. 


122  THE   WARDEN  OF  THE   CINQUE   PORTS. 

The  mighty  pyramids- of  stone 

That  wedge-like  cleave  the  desert  airs. 

When  nearer  seen,  and  better  known, 
Are  but  gigantic  flights  of  stairs. 

The  distant  mountains,  that  uprear 
Their  solid  bastions  to  the  skies. 

Are  crossed  by  pathways,  that  appear 
As  we  to  higher  levels  rise. 

The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight, 

But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night. 

Standing  on  what  too  long  we  bore 

With  shoulders  bent  and  downcast  eyes. 

We  may  discern — unseen  before — 
A  path  to  higher  destinies. 

Nor  deem  the  irrevocable  Past, 
As  wholly  wasted,  wholly  vain. 

If,  rising  on  its  wrecks,  at  last 
To  something  nobler  we  attain. 


THE   WARDEN   OF   THE   CINQUE   PORTS. 

A  MIST  was  driving  down  the  British  Channel, 

The  day  was  just  begun, 
And  through  the  window-panes,  on  floor  and  panel. 

Streamed  the  red  autumn  sun. 

It  glanced  on  flowing  flag  and  rippling  pennon. 

And  the  white  sails  of  ships; 
And  from  the  frowning  rampart,  the  black  cannon 

Hailed  it  with  feverish  lips. 


THE   WARDEN  OF  THE   CINQUE   PORTS.  123 

Sandwich  and  Romney,  Hastings,  Hithe,  and  Dover 

Were  all  alert  that  day, 
To  see  the  French  war-steamers  speeding  over, 

When  the  fog  cleared  away. 

Sullen  and  silent,  and  like  couchant  lions, 

Their  cannon,  through  the  night. 
Holding  their  breath,  had  watched,  in  grim  defiance, 

The  sea-coast  opposite. 

And  now  they  roared  at  drum-beat  from  their  stations 

On  every  citadel; 
Each  answering  each,  with  morning  salutations. 

That  all  was  well. 

And  down  the  coast,  all  taking  up  the  burden. 

Replied  the  distant  forts. 
As  if  to  summon  from  his  sleep  the  Warden 

And  Lord  of  the  Cinque  Ports. 

Him  shall  no  sunshine  from  the  fields  of  azure, 

No  drum-beat  from  the  wall, 
No  morning  gun  from  the  black  fort's  embrasure. 

Awaken  with  its  call! 

No  more,  surveying  with  an  eye  impartial 

The  long  line  of  the  coast, 
Shall  the  gaunt  figure  of  the  old  Field  Marshal 

Be  seen  upon  his  post! 

For  in  the  night,  unseen,  a  single  warrior. 

In  sombre  harness  mailed. 
Dreaded  of  man,  and  surnamed  the  Destroyer, 

The  rampart  wall  had  scaled. 


124  THE  EMPEKOR's  BIRD'S-NEST. 

He  passed  into  the  chamber  of  the  sleeper, 

The  dark  and  silent  room. 
And  as  he  entered,  darker  grew,  and  deeper. 

The  silence  and  the  gloom. 

He  did  not  pause  to  parley  or  dissemble. 

But  smote  the  Warden  hoar; 
Ah!  what  a  blow!  that  made  all  England  tremble 

And  groan  from  shore  to  shore. 

Meanwhile,  without,  the  surly  cannon  waited. 

The  sun  rose  bright  o'erhead; 
Nothing  in  Nature's  aspect  intimated 

That  a  great  man  was  dead. 


THE   EMPEEOE'S    BIED'S-NEST. 

Once  the  Emperor  Charles  of  Spain, 
With  his  swarthy,  grave  commanders, 

I  forget  in  what  campaign, 

Long  besieged,  in  mud  and  rain, 

Some  old  frontier  town  of  Flanders. 

Up  and  down  the  dreary  camp. 
In  great  boots  of  Spanish  leather, 

Striding  with  a  measured  tramp, 

These  Hidalgos,  dull  and  damp. 

Cursed  the  Frenchmen,  cursed  the  weather. 

Thus  as  to  and  fro  they  went. 

Over  upland  and  through  hollow, 
Giving  their  impatience  vent, 
Perched  upon  the  Emperor's  tent. 
In  her  nest,  they  spied  a  swallow. 


THE  emperoe's  bird's-:nest.  125 

Yes,  it  was  a  swallow's  nest, 

Built  of  clay  and  hair  of  horses, 
Mane,  or  tail,  or  dragoon's  crest, 
Found  on  hedge-rows  east  and  west, 

After  skirmish  of  the  forces. 

Then  an  old  Hidalgo  said. 

As  he  twirled  his  gray  mustachio, 
"  Sure  this  swallow  overhead 
Thinks  the  Emperor's  tent  a  shed. 

And  the  Emperor  but  a  Macho!  " 

Hearing  his  imperial  name 

Coupled  with  those  words  of  malice, 
Half  in  anger,  half  in  shame. 
Forth  the  great  campaigner  came 

Slowly  from  his  canvas  palace. 

"  Let  no  hand  the  bird  molest," 

Said  he  solemnly,  "  nor  hurt  her! '' 
Adding  then,  by  way  of  jest, 
"  Golondrina  is  my  guest, 

'Tis  the  wife  of  some  deserter!  " 

Swift  as  bowstring  speeds  a  shaft. 

Through  the  camp  was  spread  the  rumor, 

And  the  soldiers,  as  they  quaffed 

Flemish  beer  at  dinner,  laughed 
At  the  Emperor's  pleasant  humor. 

So  unharmed  and  unafraid 

Sat  the  swallow  still  and  brooded. 
Till  the  constant  cannonade 
Through  the  walls  a  breach  had  made. 

And  the  siege  was  thus  concluded. 


126  THE   TWO   ANGELS. 

Then  the  army,  elsewhere  bent, 

Struck  its  tents  as  if  disbanding, 
Only  not  the  Emperor's  tent, 
For  he  ordered,  ere  he  went. 

Very  curtly,  "  Leave  it  standing!  " 

So  it  stood  there  all  alone. 

Loosely  flapping,  torn  and  tattered. 
Till  the  brood  was  fledged  and  flown. 
Singing  o'er  those  walls  of  stone 

Which  the  cannon-shot  had  shattered. 


THE    TWO    ANGELS. 

Two  angels,  one  of  Life  and  one  of  Death, 
Passed  o'er  our  village  as  the  morning  broke; 

The  dawn  was  on  their  faces,  and  beneath. 

The  sombre  houses  hearsed  with  plumes  of  smoke. 

Their  attitude  and  aspect  were  the  same. 

Alike  their  features  and  their  robes  of  white; 

But  one  was  crowned  with  amaranth,  as  with  flame, 
And  one  with  asphodels,  like  flakes  of  light. 

I  saw  them  pause  on  their  celestial  way; 

Then  said  I,  with  deep  fear  and  doubt  oppressed, 
"  Beat  not  so  loud,  my  heart,  lest  thou  betray 

The  place  where  thy  beloved  are  at  rest!  " 

And  he  who  wore  the  crown  of  asphodels. 
Descending,  at  my  door  began  to  knock. 

And  my  soul  sank  within  me,  as  in  wells 

The  waters  sink  before  an  earthquake's  shock. 


THE   TWO   ANGELS.  127 

I  recognized  the  nameless  agony, 

The  terror  and  the  tremor  and  the  pain, 
That  oft  before  had  filled  or  haunted  me. 

And  now  returned  with  threefold  strength  again. 

The  door  I  opened  to  my  heavenly  guest, 

And  listened,  for  I  thought  I  heard  God's  voice; 

And,  knowing  whatso'er  he  sent  was  best. 
Dared  neither  to  lament  nor  to  rejoice. 

Then  with  a  smile,  that  filled  the  house  with  light, 
"  My  errand  is  not  Death,  but  Life,"  he  said; 

And  ere  I  answered,  passing  out  of  sight. 
On  his  celestial  embassy  he  sped. 

'Twas  at  thy  door,  0  friend!  and  not  at  mine. 
The  angel  with  the  amaranthine  wreath. 

Pausing,  descended,  and  with  voice  divine. 
Whispered  a  word  that  had  a  sound  like  Death. 

Then  fell  upon  the  house  a  sudden  gloom, 

A  shadow  on  those  features  fair  and  thin; 
And  softly,  from  that  hushed  and  darkened  room. 

Two  angels  issued,  where  but  one  went  in. 

All  is  of  God!     If  he  but  wave  his  hand, 

The  mists  collect,  the  rain  falls  thick  and  loud,- 

Till,  with  a  smile  of  light  on  sea  and  land, 
Lo!  he  looks  back  from  the  departing  cloud. 

Angels  of  Life  and  Death  alike  are  his; 

Without  his  leave  they  pass  no  threshold  o'er; 
Who,  then,  would  wish  or  dare,  believing  this. 

Against  his  messengers  to  shut  the  door? 


128  OLIVER  BASSELIN. 


OLIVER    BASSELIN. 

In  the  Valley  of  the  Vire 

Still  is  seen  an  ancient  mill, 

With  its  gables  quaint  and  queer. 

And  beneath  the  window-sill. 

On  the  stone, 

These  words  alone: 

"  Oliver  Basselin  lived  here." 

Far  above  it,  on  the  steep. 

Ruined  stands  the  old  Chateau; 
Nothing  but  the  donjon-keep 
Left  for  shelter  or  for  show. 
Its  vacant  eyes 
Stare  at  the  skies. 
Stare  at  the  valley  green  and  deep. 

Once  a  convent,  old  and  brown. 

Looked,  but  ah!  it  looks  no  more. 
From  the  neighboring  hillside  down 
On  the  rushing  and  the  roar 
Of  the  stream 
Whose  sunny  gleam 
Cheers  the  little  Norman  town. 

In  that  darksome  mill  of  stone. 
To  the  water's  dash  and  din. 
Careless,  humble,  and  unknown. 
Sang  the  poet  Basselin 
Songs  that  fill 
That  ancient  mill 
With  a  splendor  of  its  own. 


OLIVER  BASSELIN.  129 

Kever  feeling  of  unrest 

Broke  the  pleasant  dream  he  dreamed; 
Only  made  to  be  his  nest, 
All  the  lovely  valley  seemed; 
No  desire 
Of  soaring  higher 
Stirred  or  fluttered  in  his  breast. 

True,  his  songs  were  not  divine; 

Were  not  songs  of  that  high  art. 
Which,  as  winds  do  in  the  pine, 
Find  an  answer  in  each  heart; 
But  the  mirth 
Of  this  green  earth 
Laughed  and  revelled  in  his  line. 

From  the  alehouse  and  the  inn, 
Opening  on  the  narrow  street. 
Came  the  loud,  convivial  din. 
Singing  and  applause  of  feet. 
The  laughing  lays 
That  in  those  days 
Sang  the  poet  Basselin. 

In  the  castle,  cased  in  steel. 

Knights,  who  fought  at  Agincourt, 
Watched  and  waited,  spur  on  heel; 
But  the  poet  sang  for  sport 
Songs  that  rang 
Another  clang, 
Songs  that  lowlier  hearts  could  feel. 

In  the  convent,  clad  in  gray. 
Sat  the  monks  in  lonely  cells, 


130  HY  LOST    fOUTH. 

Paced  the  cloisters,  knelt  to  pray, 
And  the  poet  heard  their  bells; 
But  his  rhymes 
Found  other  chimes, 

Nearer  to  the  earth  than  they. 

Gone  are  all  the  barons  bold. 

Gone  are  all  the  knights  and  squires, 
Gone  the  abbot  stern  and  cold. 
And  the  brotherhood  of  friars; 
Not  a  name 
Eemains  to  fame. 
From  those  mouldering  days  of  old! 

But  the  poet^s  memory  here 

Of  the  landscape  makes  a  part; 
Like  the  river,  swift  and  clear, 

Flows  his  song  through  many  a  heart; 
Haunting  still 
That  ancient  mill. 
In  .the  Valley  of  the  Vire. 


MY    LOST    YOUTH. 

Often  I  think  of  the  beautiful  town 

That  is  seated  by  the  sea; 
Often  in  thought  go  up  and  down 
The  pleasant  streets  of  that  dear  old  town. 
And  my  youth  comes  back  to  me. 
And  a  verse  of  a  Lapland  song 
Is  haunting  my  memory  still: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 


MY  LOST  YOUTH.  181 

I  can  see  the  shadowy  lines  of  its  trees. 

And  catch,  in  sudden  gleams. 
The  sheen  of  the  far-surrounding  seas. 
And  islands  that  were  the  Hesperides 
Of  all  my  boyish  dreams. 

And  the  burden  of  that  old  song, 
It  murmurs  and  whispers  still: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts/' 

I  remember  the  black  wharves  and  the  slips 

And  the  sea-tiles  tossing  free; 
And  Spanish  sailors  with  bearded  lips, 
And  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  the  ships. 
And  the  magic  of  the  sea. 

And  the  voice  of  that  wayward  song 
Is  singing  and  saying  still: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

I  remember  the  bulwarks  by  the  shore. 

And  the  fort  upon  the  hill; 
The  sun-rise  gun,  with  its  hollow  roar. 
The  drum-beat  repeated  o'er  and  o'er. 
And  the  bugle  wild  and  shrill. 
And  the  music  of  that  old  song 
Throbs  in  my  memory  still: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

I  remember  the  sea-fight  far  away. 

How  it  thundered  o'er  the  tide! 
And  the  dead  captains  as  they  lay 
In  their  graves,  o'erlooking  the  tranquil  bay, 

Where  they  in  battle  died. 


132  MY  LOST  YOUTH. 

And  the  sound  of  that  mournful  song 
Goes  through  me  with  a  thrill: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

I  can  see  the  breezy  dome  of  groves, 
The  shadows  of  Deering's  Woods; 
And  the  friendships  old  and  the  early  loves 
Come  back  with  a  sabbath  sound,  as  of  doves 
In  quiet  neighborhoods. 

And  the  verse  of  that  sweet  old  song. 
It  flutters  and  murmurs  still: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

I  remember  the  gleams  and  glooms  that  dart 

Across  the  schoolboy's  brain; 
The  song  and  the  silence  in  the  heart, 
That  in  part  are  prophecies,  and  in  part 
Are  longings  wild  and  vain. 

And  the  voice  of  that  fitful  song 
Sings  on,  and  is  never  still: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

There  are  things  of  which  I  may  not  speak; 

There  are  dreams  that  cannot  die; 
There  are  thoughts  that  make  the  strong  heart  weak, 
And  bring  a  pallor  into  the  cheek, 
And  a  mist  before  the  eye. 

And  the  words  of  that  fatal  song 
Come  over  me  like  a  chill: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind'?  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts," 


THE  GOLDEN  MILE-STONE.  133 

Strange  to  me  now  are  the  forms  I  meet 

When  I  visit  the  dear  old  town; 
But  the  native  air  is  pure  and  sweety 
And  the  trees  that  o'ershadow  each  well-known  street, 
As  they  balance  up  and  down^ 
Are  singing  the  beautiful  song. 
Are  sighing  and  whispering  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts/' 

And  Deering's  Woods  are  fresh  and  fair. 

And  with  joy  that  is  almost  pain 
My  heart  goes  back  to  wander  there. 
And  among  the  dreams  of  the  days  that  were, 
I  find  my  lost  youth  again. 

And  the  strange  and  beautiful  song. 
The  groves  are  repeating  it  still: 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will. 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

THE    GOLDEN"   MILE-STONE. 

Leafless  are  the  trees;  their  purple  branches 
Spread  themselves  abroad,  like  reefs  of  coral, 

Eising  silent 
In  the  Eed  Sea  of  the  Winter  sunset. 

From  the  hundred  chimneys  of  the  village, 
Like  the  Afreet  in  the  Arabian  story, 

Smoky  columns 
Tower  aloft  into  the  air  of  amber. 

At  the  window  winks  the  flickering  fire-light; 
Here  and  there  the  lamps  of  evening  glimmer. 

Social  watch-fires 
Answering  one  another  through  the  darkness. 


134  THE   GOLDEN   MILE-STONE. 

On  the  hearth  the  lighted  logs  are  glowing, 
And  like  Ariel  in  the  cloven  pine-tree 

For  its  freedom 
Groans  and  sighs  the  air  imprisoned  in  them. 

By  the  fireside  there  are  old  men  seated. 
Seeing  ruined  cities  in  the  ashes. 

Asking  sadly 
Of  the  Past  what  it  can  ne'er  restore  them. 

By  the  fireside  there  are  youthful  dreamers. 
Building  castles  fair,  with  stately  stairways. 

Asking  blindly 
Of  the  Future  what  it  cannot  give  them. 

By  the  fireside  tragedies  are  acted 

In  whose  scenes  appear  two  actors  only. 

Wife  and  husband, 
And  above  them  God  the  sole  spectator. 

By  the  fireside  there  are  peace  and  comfort, 
Wives  and  children,  with  fair,  thoughtful  faces. 

Waiting,  watching 
For  a  well-known  footstep  in  the  passage. 

Each  man's  chimney  is  his  Golden  Mile-stone, 
Is  the  central  point,  from  which  he  measures 

Every  distance 
Through  the  gateways  of  the  world  around  him. 

In  his  farthest  wanderings  still  he  sees  it; 

Hears  the  talking  flame,  the  answering  night-wind. 

As  he  heard  them 
When  he  sat  with  those  who  were,  but  are  not. 


SANDALPHON.  135 

Happy  he  whom  neither  wealth  nor  fashion, 
Nor  the  march  of  the  encroaching  city. 

Drives  an  exile 
From  the  hearth  of  his  ancestral  homestead. 

We  may  build  more  splendid  habitations, 

Fill  our  rooms  with  paintings  and  with  sculptures. 

But  we  cannot 
Buy  with  gold  the  old  associations! 


SANDALPHON. 

Have  you  read  in  the  Talmud  of  old. 
In  the  Legends  the  Eabbins  have  told 

Of  the  limitless  realms  of  the  air, — 
Have  you  read  it, — the  marvellous  story 
Of  Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Glory, 

Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Prayer? 

How,  erect,  at  the  outermost  gates 
Of  the  City  Celestial  he  waits. 

With  his  feet  on  the  ladder  of  light. 
That,  crowded  with  angels  unnumbered, 
By  Jacob  was  seen,  as  he  slumbered 

Alone  in  the  desert  at  night? 

The  Angels  of  Wind  and  of  Fire 
Chaunt  only  one  hymn,  and  expire 

With  the  song's  irresistible  stress; 
Expire  in  their  rapture  and  wonder. 
As  harp-strings  are  broken  asunder 

By  music  they  throb  to  express. 


136  SANDALPHON. 

But  serene  in  the  rapturous  throng, 
Unmoved  by  the  rush  of  the  song, 

With  eyes  unimpassioned  and  slow, 
Among  the  dead  angels,  the  deathless 
Sandalphon  stands  listening  breathless 

To  sounds  that  ascend  from  below; — 

From  the  spirits  on  earth  that  adore, 
From  the  souls  that  entreat  and  implore 

In  the  fervor  and  passion  of  prayer; 
From  the  hearts  that  are  broken  with  losses, 
And  weary  with  dragging  the  crosses 

Too  heavy  for  mortals  to  bear. 

And  he  gathers  the  prayers  as  he  stands, 
And  they  change  into  flowers  in  his  hands. 

Into  garlands  of  purple  and  red; 
And  beneath  the  great  arch  of  the  portal, 
Through  the  streets  of  the  City  Immortal 

Is  wafted  the  fragrance  they  shed. 

It  is  but  a  legend,  I  know, — 
A  fable,  a  phantom,  a  show. 

Of  the  ancient  Rabbinical  lore; 
Yet  the  old  medieval  tradition. 
The  beautiful,  strange  superstition, 

But  haunts  me  and  holds  me  the  more. 

When  I  look  from  my  window  at  night, 
And  the  welkin  above  is  all  white. 

All  throbbing  and  panting  with  stars, 
Among  them  majestic  is  standing 
Sandalphon  the  angel,  expanding 

His  pinions  in  nebulous  bars. 


SANDALPHON.  137 


And  the  legend,  I  feel,  is  a  part 

Of  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  heart, 

The  frenzy  and  fire  of  the  brain, 
That  grasps  at  the  fruitage  forbidden. 
The  golden  pomegranates  of  Eden, 

To  quiet  its  fever  and  pain. 


NOTES. 


Page  82.    All  the  Foresters  of  Flanders. 

The  title  of  Foresters  was  given  to  tlie  early  goveniors  of  Flanders,  appointed  by  the 
kings  of  France.  Lyderick  du  Bucq,  in  the  days  of  Clotaire  the  Second,  was  the  first 
of  them  ;  and  Beaudoin  Bras-de-Fer,  who  stole  away  the  fair  Judith,  daughter  of 
Charles  the  Bald,  from  the  French  court,  and  married  her  in  Bruges,  was  the  last. 
After  him,  the  title  of  Forester  was  changed  to  that  of  Count.  Philippe  d'Alsace,  Guy 
de  Dampierre,  and  Louis  de  Crecy,  coming  later  in  the  order  of  time,  were  therefore 
rather  Counts  than  Foresters.  Philippe  went  twice  to  the  Holy  Land  as  a  Crusader, 
and  died  of  the  plague  at  St.  Jean-d'Acre,  shortly  after  the  capture  of  the  city  by  the 
Christians.  Guy  de  Dampierre  died  in  the  prison  of  Compiegne.  Louis  de  Crecy  was 
son  and  successor  of  Kobert  de  Bethune,  who  strangled  his  wife,  Yolande  de  Bourgogne, 
with  the  bridle  of  his  horse,  for  having  poisoned,  at  the  age  of  eleven  years,  Charles, 
his  son  by  his  first  wife,  Blanche  d'Anjou. 

Page  83.    Stately  dames,  like  queens  attended. 

When  Philippe-le-Bel,  king  of  France,  visited  Flanders  with  his  queen,  she  was  so 
astonished  at  the  magnificence  of  the  dames  of  Bruges,  that  she  exclaimed,  "  Je  croyais 
etre  seule  reine  ici,  mais  il  parait  que  ceux  de  Flandre  qui  se  trouvent  dans  nos  prisons 
sont  tons  des  princes,  car  leurs  femmes  sent  habillees  comme  des  princesses  et  des 
reines." 

When  the  burgomasters  of  Ghent,  Bruges,  and  Ypres  went  to  Paris  to  pay  homage 
to  King  John,  in  1351,  they  were  received  with  great  pomp  and  distinction ;  but,  being 
invited  to  a  festival,  they  observed  that  their  seats  at  table  were  not  furnished  with 
cushions  ;  whereupon,  to  make  known  their  displeasure  at  this  want  of  regard  to  their 
dignity,  they  folded  their  richly  embroidered  cloaks  and  seated  themselves  upon  them. 
On  rising  from  table,  they  left  their  cloaks  behind  them,  and,  being  informed  of  their 
apparent  forgetful ness,  Simon  van  Eertrycke,  burgomaster  of  Bruges,  replied,  "We 
Flemings  are  not  in  the  habit  of  carrying  away  our  cushions  after  dinner." 

Page  83.    Knights  who  bore  the  Fleece  of  Gold. 

Philippe  de  Bourgogne,  surnamed  Le  Bon,  espoused  Isabella  of  Portugal,  on  the  10th 
of  January,  1430,  and  on  the  same  day  instituted  the  famous  order  of  the  Fleece  of  Gold. 

Page  83.    Ibeheld  the  gentle  Mary. 

Marie  de  Valois,  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  was  left  by  the  death  of  her  father,  Charles- 
le-Temeraire,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  the  richest  heiress  of  Europe.  She  came  to  Bruges, 
as  Countess  of  Flanders,  in  1477,  and  in  the  same  year  was  married  by  proxy  to  the 


140  NOTES. 

Archduke  Maximilian.  According  to  the  custom  of  the  time,  the  Duke  of  Bavaria, 
Maximilian's  substitute,  slept  with  the  princess.  They  were  both  in  complete  drees, 
separated  by  a  naked  sword,  and  attended  by  four  armed  guards.  Marie  was  adored 
by  her  subjects  for  her  gentleness  and  her  many  other  virtues. 

Maximilian  was  son  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  the  Third,  and  is  the  same  person 
mentioned  afterwards  in  the  poem  of  Nuremberg  as  the  Kaiser  Maximilian,  and  the 
hero  of  Pfinzing's  poem  of  Teuerdank.  Having  been  imprisoned  by  the  revolted 
burghers  of  Bruges,  they  refused  to  release  him,  till  he  consented  to  kneel  in  the  public 
square,  and  to  swear  on  the  Holy  Evangelists  and  the  body  of  Saint  Donatus  that  he 
would  not  take  vengeance  upon  them  for  their  rebellion. 

Page  83.     The  bloody  battle  of  the  Spurs  of  Gold. 

This  battle,  the  mo#t  memorable  in  Flemish  history,  was  fought  under  the  walls  of 
Courtray,  on  the  11th  of  July,  1302,  between  the  French  and  the  Flemings,  the  former 
commanded  by  Robert,  Comte  d'Artois,  and  the  latter  by  Guillaume  de  Juliers,  and 
Jean,  Comte  de  Namur.  The  French  army  was  completely  routed,  with  a  loss  of  twenty 
thousand  infantry  and  seven  thousand  cavalry  ;  among  whom  were  sixty-three  princes, 
dukes,  and  counts,  seven  hundred  lords-banneret,  and  eleven  hundred  noblemen.  The 
flower  of  the  French  nobility  perished  on  that  day,  to  which  history  has  given  the  name 
of  the  Journee  des  Eperons  d''Or^  from  the  great  number  of  golden  spurs  found  on  the 
field  of  battle.  Seven  hundred  of  them  w-ere  hung  up  as  a  trophy  in  the  church  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Courtray  ;  and,  as  the  cavaliers  of  that  day  wore  but  a  single  spur  each, 
these  vouched  to  God  for  the  violent  and  bloody  death  of  seven  hundred  of  his  creatures. 

Page  83.    Saw  the  fight  at  Minnewater. 

When  the  inhabitants  of  Bruges  were  digging  a  canal  at  Minnewater,  to  bring  the 
waters  of  the  Lys  from  Deyhze  to  their  city,  they  were  attacked  and  routed  by  the 
citizens  of  Ghent,  whose  commerce  would  have  been  much  injured  by  the  canal. 
They  were  led  by  Jean  Lyons,  captain  of  a  military  company  at  Ghent,  called  the 
Chaperons  Blancs.  He  had  great  sway  over  the  turbulent  populace,  who,  in  those 
prosperous  times  of  the  city,  gained  an  easy  livelihood  by  laboring  two  or  three  days 
in  the  week,  and  had  the  remaining  four  or  five  to  devote  to  public  aflfairs.  The  fight 
at  Minnewater  was  followed  by  open  rebellion  against  Louis  de  Maele,  the  Count  of 
Flanders  and  Protector  of  Bruges.  His  superb  chateau  of  Wondelghem  was  pillaged 
and  burnt ;  and  the  insurgents  forced  the  gates  of  Bruges,  and  entered  in  triumph, 
with  Lyons  mounted  at  their  head.  A  few  days  afterwards  he  died  suddenly,  perhaps 
by  poison. 

Meanwhile  the  insurgents  received  a  check  at  the  village  of  Nevele ;  and  two  hun- 
dred of  them  perished  in  the  church,  which  was  burned  by  the  Count's  orders.  One 
of  the  chiefs,  Jean  de  Lannoy,  took  refuge  in  the  belfry.  From  the  summit  of  the  tower 
he  held  forth  his  purse  filled  with  gold,  and  begged  for  deliverance.  It  was  in  vain. 
His  enemies  cried  to  him  from  below  to  save  himself  as  best  he  might ;  and,  half 
suffocated  with  smoke  and  flame,  he  threw  himself  from  the  tower  and  perished  at 
their  feet.  Peace  was  soon  afterwards  established,  and  the  Count  retired  to  faithful 
Bruges. 


NOTES.  141 

Page  86.    That  their  great  imperial  city  stretched  its  hand  through  ecery  dime. 

Jln  old  popular  proverb  of  the  town  runs  thus  : — 

'•  NiirrCberg's  Hand 
Geht  durch  aUe  Land.'"' 

Nuremberg's  hand 
Goes  through  every  land. 

Page  86.    Sat  the  poet  Melchior  singing  Kaiser  Maximilian'' s  praise. 

Melchior  Pfinzing  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  German  poets  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  The  hero  of  his  Teuerdank  was  the  reigning  emperor,  Maximilian  ;  and  the 
poem  was  to  the  Germans  of  that  day  what  the  Orlando  Furioso  was  to  the  Italians. 
Maximilian  is  mentioned  before,  in  the  Belfry  of  Bruges.    See  page  83. 

Page  87.    In  the  church  of  sainted  Sebald  sleeps  enshrined  his  holy  dust. 

The  tomb  of  Saint  Sebald,  in  the  church  which  bears  his  name,  is  one  of  the  richest 
works  of  art  in  Nuremberg.  It  is  of  bronze,  and  was  cast  by  Peter  Vischer  and  his 
sons,  who  labored  upon  it  thirteen  years.  It  is  adorned  with  nearly  one  hundred 
figures,  among  which  those  of  the  Twelve  Apostles  are  conspicuous  for  size  and  beauty. 

Page  87.    In  the  church  of  sainted  Lawrence  stands  a  pix  of  sculpture  rare. 

This  pix,  or  tabernacle  for  the  vessels  of  the  sacrament,  is  by  the  hand  of  Adam 
Kraft.  It  is  an  exquisite  piece  of  sculpture  in  white  stone,  and  rises  to  the  height  of 
sixty-four  feet.  It  stands  in  the  choir,  whose  richly  painted  windows  cover  it  with 
varied  colors. 

Page  88.     Wisest  of  the  Twelve  Wise  Masters. 

The  Twelve  Wise  Masters  was  the  title  of  the  original  corporation  of  the  Master- 
singers.  Hans  Sachs,  the  cobbler  of  Nuremberg,  though  not  one  of  the  original  Twelve, 
was  the  most  renowned  of  the  Mastersingers,  as  well  as  the  most  voluminous.  He 
flourished  in  the  sixteenth  century ;  and  left  behind  him  thirty-four  folio  volumes  of 
manuscript,  containing  two  hundred  and  eight  plays,  one  thousand  and  seven  hundred 
comic  tales,  and  between  four  and  five  thousand  lyric  poems. 

Page  88.    As  in  Ada?)i  Puschman's  song. 

Adam  Puschman,  in  his  poem  on  the  death  of  Hans  Sachs,  describes  him  as  he 

appeared  in  a  vision  :  — 

"An  old  man, 

Gray  and  white  and  dove-like. 

Who  had,  in  sooth,  a  great  beard. 

And  read  in  a  fair,  great  book. 

Beautiful,  with  golden  clasps." 

Page  115.    Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert. 

"  When  the  wind  abated  and  the  vessels  were  near  enough,  the  Admiral  was  seen 
constantly  sitting  in  the  stern,  with  a  book  in  his  hand.    On  the  9th  of  September  he 


142  NOTES. 

was  seen  for  the  last  time,  and  was  heard  by  the  people  of  the  Hind  to  say,  '  We  are 
as  near  heaven  by  sea  as  by  land.'  In  the  following  night,  the  lights  of  the  ship 
suddenly  disappeared.  The  people  in  the  other  vessel  kept  a  good  lookout  for  him 
during  the  remainder  of  the  voyage.  On  the  22d  of  September  they  arrived,  through 
much  tempest  and  peril,  at  Falmouth.  But  nothing  more  was  seen  or  heard  of  the 
Admira].''''— Belknap's  American  Biography,  I.  203. 

Page  121 .     That  of  our  vices  we  can  frame  a  ladder. 

The  words  of  St.  Augustine  are :  ''  De  vitiis  nostris  scalam  nobis  facimus,  si  vitia 
ipsa  calcamus." — Sermon  III.,  De  Ascensione. 

Page  125.    And  the  Emperor  biit  a  Macho. 

Macho,  in  Spanish,  signifies  a  mule.  Golondrina  is  the  feminine  form  of  Golon- 
drino,  a  swallow,  and  also  a  cant  name  for  a  deserter. 

Page  128.     Oliver  Basselin. 

Oliver  Basselin,  the  Pere  joyeux  du  Vaudeville,  flourished  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
and  gave  to  his  convivial  songs  the  name  of  his  native  valleys,  in  which  he  sang  them, 
Vaux-de-Vire.    This  name  was  afterward  corrupted  into  the  modern  Vaudeville. 

Page  131.    I  remember  the  sea-fight  far  away. 

This  was  the  engagement  between  the  "Enterprise"  and  "Boxer,"  off  the  harbor 
of  Portland,  in  which  both  captains  were  slain.  They  were  buried  side  by  side  in  the 
cemetery  on  Mountjoy, 


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